


Culture Shock

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M, Minor Character Death, background mavin and ryack, better to just not mention it more than that since im already ashamed of myself about it, eventual jeremy/geoff because im trash, fem!Jack, im not gonna lie theres some dick stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy, the newest "hire" of the Fake AH Crew, goes from the formal, straight-laced calm of his former crew to the literal storm of immaturity and dick jokes mixed with incredible dangers of working with Los Santos's best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Done Deal

The room is silent, the tension of guns in holsters filling the air with steel. The boss hands over an envelope, and the king takes it carefully. He takes a second to read the contents, then nods. The deal is acceptable. His side of the deal steps forward, hands behind his back, head up in a supplicant’s pose. The picture of calm mercenary professionalism.

“Is the transfer to your standards, sir?” he asks, voice sharp and words short. No use wasting words on unnecessary extras.

“Sure, why not. I get a new henchman, and you guys get to stop being target practice for my boys? Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.” The king shrugs in the darkness, as if the question doesn’t interest him, despite it determining the fate of the entire state of the supplicant’s former crew. “One thing, before we go,” he continues, looking over the supplicant’s head at the boss, “If your man betrays us? I will kill every single one of you motherfuckers, and you can take that shit to the bank, buddy.” And then the famous grin is back, all traces of hostility gone. He looks the supplicant in the eye, then tilts his head toward the door, following shortly after him, and tossing up a double middle finger salute back into the room as he leaves.

\--------------------

“So, Jeremy, right?” Geoff asks, momentarily looking away from the road to look at his new hire whiteknuckling it in the passenger’s seat as he speeds down the busy Los Santos streets. “You got any skills we could use?”

“Several, Mr. Ramsey, sir. I’m skilled in CQC, infiltration, and linguistics,” Jeremy answers, looking away from the road as Geoff just barely misses another car.

“You can call me Geoff if you want.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I prefer calling you Mr. Ramsey. It’s more professional,” he explains.

“Yeah, well. We’re not exactly as formal as your last crew, bud. In fact, we’re probably the least formal crew on the planet earth,” Geoff laughs, swinging the car through red light onto a crowded street. He looks over, seeing Jeremys face start to turn slightly green.

“Great. Loving it already,” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“See? You got some humor in you yet, Jerbear.”

“Please never call me that again. Ever.”

“Whatever you say, dude,” Geoff shrugs, turning into the garage of the penthouse, and practically sliding the car into park in its usual spot. He can see the visible hope on the new hire’s face when the car stops, as he practically jumps from the vehicle.

“My driving’s not that bad!” Geoff complains, putting his keys back into the valet box. He turns around to see Jeremy standing by the elevator, still in that stupid faux military pose.

“Can you like, stop being a straightedge for two seconds and just loosen up. You’re basically going to a second interview right now, because if my crew doesn’t like you,” Geoff’s voice goes cold, almost without him even trying, “then we kill you and all your little friends too.” From the look on his face, and the way the new hire drops his arms to his sides, he can tell the intimidation tactic is working. He presses the intercom button, letting it crackle for a second, before Michael picks up on the other end.

“Yeah? What the fuck do you want, Geoffrey?”

“Send the fucking elevator down!”

“Alright, alright, no need to yell, asshole,” Michael grumbles, the intercom clicking off, and the elevator starting to descend. Soon enough, the doors open, letting both mercs step into it as the doors close. Geoff hits the button for the penthouse suite, and the car jolts upward.

“Now, I gotta warn you,” he starts, “My crew aren’t exactly the most easy people to get along with. They’re…they’re somethin’ alright. You’ll get the gist in a sec,” he says, waving at the air noncommittally as the doors open. Almost immediately, the pair are bombarded with the sound of Michael and Gavin arguing about some inane shit. Something about bread and groceries? Whatever it is, Geoff’s sure that it’s stupid. Beside the elevator, in the kitchen, Ryan has Jack on his shoulders, helping her clean out the cabinets, it seems.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” He asks, causing Ryan to jump, nearly knocking Jack off his shoulders. She only just manages to grasp the cabinet door at the last second, nearly pulling it off the hinges.

“What the fuck does it look like we’re doing? We’re cleaning the cabinets, they’re fucking filthy,” Ryan replies, with a shrug that causes Jack to deathglare him with all her might.

“Why’s Jack on your shoulders?”

“She likes to be tall,” Ryan says, and Jack lightly smacks the top of his head with a plate, a frown gracing her face. She finally looks over at Geoff, her face changing from annoyed to pleasantly surprised in a second.

“You must be Jeremy! Welcome to the penthouse, kiddo!” she says, smiling serenely, as if she isn’t currently seated on the shoulders of a mass murderer.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jeremy says, with a little bow. He’d heard a lot about these two. The second dangerous duo of the Fakes, with a kill count in the thousands, and more successful heists between them than any other crew in Los Santos. Jack “The Ripper” Pattillo and the mysterious Vagabond. To be honest, he’d expected them to be a little more dangerous looking, instead they just look like your average quirky suburban couple.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Jack asks, her voice suddenly as sharp as steel, eyes as cold and harsh as the tundra, before changing back in an instant. “Just kidding!” she laughs, before turning back to the cabinet. Well, there was the fucking terrifying merc he’d expected. He might need a minute after that. And maybe a new pair of pants. Geoff, however, gives him no chance to think, instead calling over the other quarreling pair.

Jeremy recognizes them as Team Nice Dynamite, the infamous demolitions duo. Several buildings around his old crew’s haunts had been taken down by stray blasts from their failed heists.

“This is Michael and Gavin, otherwise known as dumb and dumber,” Geoff says, pulling Gavin into a headlock, tousling the struggling lad’s hair. The other one, presumably Michael, if his crew’s research had been right, simply steps forward, and before Jeremy can even react, there’s a fist in his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs. He stands his ground, raising his fists to fight back, but before he even gets the chance, Michael is laughing, and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re a tough little fucker, ain’t ya? You’re gonna do well here, kid.”

And as Jeremy stands there, Michael’s arm around his shoulder, Geoff still wrestling with Gavin in front of him, and Jack and the Vagabond yelling at each other over who dropped and broke the plate behind him, he can only think that he’s in for the wildest ride of what will surely be a short life.


	2. Jeremy Gets Bipped

The door to Jeremy’s room slams open, waking him from his light sleep. He jolts upright, vision still slightly blurred as he sees Gavin bracing himself to keep the door closed, a look of utmost fear on his face.

“What the fuck…what the fuck are you doing?” Jeremy asks, hopping out of bed, his sock clad feet hitting the floor before he finishes his sentence.

“He’s coming for me, he’s gonna get me!” Gav whisper-yells, his eyes wide with the type of fear Jeremy’s only seen on the faces of the soon to be deceased. Shit, there must be an actual threat this time.

He retrieves a gun from the side table, quickly checking the mechanism and clip to make sure that they’re still working properly, before pulling Gavin away from the door by his collar. He pushes the scrawny Brit behind him, blocking him almost completely from the door.

“Whoa, wait, is that a gun? Why do you have a gun?” Gavin whispers, almost as if he can’t fathom why he’d need a weapon for such an obvious threat. As the door creaks open, Gavin grabs Jeremy’s arm, managing to pull it back enough to point at the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing, you’re gonna get us both-“ Jeremy starts, before the door is fully thrown open, and he sees Michael for a split second, before his eyesight is accosted by a piece of wet something hitting him square in the middle of his face. He can hear Michael start to laugh uncontrollably, the newly familiar machine gun bursts confusing him more than the gross whatever-it-is on his face.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on here?” he asks, wiping his face with the hand not currently holding the loaded gun. “Gavin said there was a threat, where’s the fucking threat?”

“The threat was this little bitch not wanting to get wet breaded,” Michael explains through his giggles, Gavin moving past a still extremely confused Jeremy to slap the other lad’s arm in indignation.

“It’s gross and you keep trying to get me with it!” he whines, pouting like a child.

“Major props on the quick response though, Jerbear. Ten points for you,” Michael says, shooting him a pair of finger guns.

“First of all, I told you guys that I hated that name,” Jeremy continues, wiping the last of the spongey bread off of his face.

“No need to have such a short temper,” Gavin says, holding back a giggle. Jeremy just sighs. Short jokes, great, like he hasn’t heard that exact one seven hundred times.

“Second of all,” he continues, “Why the fuck are you not only awake at four fucking thirty in the morning, but also chasing each other around with pieces of bread?”

“Well, really it was just me chasing Gav,” Michael starts, before getting cut off by Jeremy starting to yell.

“Oh! Oh, it was only you chasing him! That makes everything okay then!”

At that exact moment, the door across the hall swings open, and Jack steps out, still in a rumpled pair of matching plaid pajamas. Jeremy does a double take when he sees the steel baseball bat in her hand as she raises it to point at him. Honestly, that motion alone is the scariest thing he’s encountered in a long while, especially coupled with the “I will murder you and burn your ashes if you do not shut the fuck up this instant” look as she steps back into her room. Michael rolls his eyes, as if he’s seen that stare a million times before.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up, we get it. The tough gal act doesn’t work on us, Jack!” Michael yells back at the door, and Jeremy cringes at the loud sound. Despite Michael’s assertion, the act really does work on him. Probably because he knows it isn’t just an act. 3,000 _confirmed_ kills does not an _act_ make.

“Alright, go on, get out,” Jeremy recovers, shooing the lads from his room. They hurry off down the hall, leaving him to find the bathroom in peace. This gross bread residue just has to go. As he steps into the bathroom, he notices the distinct lack of any sort of towel and sighs. Splashing water on his face, he looks up into the mirror to make sure there’s no more chunks of bread on his face, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees a shadow pass by the doorway. He takes his gun from where he’d left it temporarily on the bathroom counter, crouching against the doorframe, and checking around the corner.

From his position he can see something moving in the kitchen, completely in the dark. He sighs and lowers the gun when he realizes that the mysterious figure heads straight for the liquor cabinet. He dries off his still dripping face with his shirt, nearly knocking Geoff over as he leaves the bathroom.

“Sorry, boss, my bad,” he apologizes sincerely.

“No big deal,” Geoff smiles and shrugs. “But shouldn’t you be sleeping? We have a heist tomorrow, I want everyone rested up. That includes you,” he says, gesturing with the bottle of bourbon, “and whoever you were yelling at. Probably Michael and Gavin, right?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Jeremy says, answering both questions, nodding and waiting for Geoff to move on down the hall. At the last second, though, the question he’d been holding back slips out.

“Sir, why are you drinking this late at night?”

Geoff turns back to him, one foot already in his room, and smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks sad, and avoids looking Jeremy in the eye when he answers, “It’s the one year anniversary of something.” There's something more behind that sentence, something the boss isn’t telling him. And from the tone of his voice that sounds almost like he’s in mourning, he’s not sure he wants to know. “Get some rest, kid,” Geoff says, softly closing the door behind him, and leaving Jeremy more confused than he was before he asked.


	3. About as Scared as a Small Hole in the Arm

“Alright boys and girls, listen up.” Geoff’s voice crackled over the comms, a slight bit of static overlaying his command. Jeremy glanced over the brim of the stupid cowboy hat the other lads had picked out for him, seeing Michael and Gavin, at the ATM across the bank from him, scratch behind their ears in sync. He’d have to inform them of that obvious tell later.

“You all know what today is,” Geoff continues, and Jeremy finds that he doesn’t in the slightest know what today is. “It’s been an entire year since we lost one of our own to the wastes of Los Santos. So this city that took him from us? Let’s take it for all its worth, then burn whatever’s left.” Jeremy looks left, at Jack coming out of the women’s restroom, something the size of a pen clasped in her hand, and topped with a big red button.

“On my count. Three.”

Jack steps forward again, leaning against the wall next to Jeremy nonchalantly and looking at her watch. Across the way, Michael pulls another pen sized thing from his pocket.

“Two.”

Gavin drags Michael away from the ATM, alerting the nearby guard. Jeremy sees him hesitate for a second, hand closing in on his gun. Under his jacket, Jeremy grasps the handle of his own pistol, drawing it from his police holster.

“One.”

The guard looks down, suddenly aware of a hole in his chest that’s leaking bright red blood down the front of his uniform. He drops to his knees and one of the clerks screams.

“That’s for Ray, you son of a bitch.”

And just like that, everything inside the bank is in chaos. Jack and Michael detonate their charges at the same time, creating two giant holes to the street on either side of the bank, spraying the streets with rubble and dust. Ryan and Geoff burst through the glass front door in a haze of bullets, Ryan spraying everyone in sight with Michael’s prized minigun, and Geoff two steps behind him, a bright pink sniper rifle in his hands. Geoff glances to the left, making eye contact with Jeremy, tipping his head toward the counter. Jeremy finally breaks out of his daze, and starts sprinting toward the flaming counter, vaulting it easily in one hop. He didn’t take 8 years of gymnastics lessons for nothing.

Jack glances back at him, tossing him two full bags of cash from the open vault. He catches one, dropping the other temporarily, in favor of putting two rounds into a guard rounding the corner to his left. Michael and Gavin hop the counter, Gavin quickly turning to the computer on the desk, attaching some kind of circuit board looking thing to it. Michael helps Jack stuff more of the cash into bags, loading up three more heavy duffels and shouldering them. Jack reemerges from the vault with four of them slung bandolier-style over her chest.

“Hurry up dear, we got sixty seconds ‘til cops, and unless you feel like patching up a bunch of holey mercs, we’d better hurry. We’ll be outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered, out-,” Ryan says, approaching the counter and offering Jack a hand to grab as she shuffles back over the thing, this time impeded by the bags around her shoulders.

“I got it, I got it, keep your pants on,” she replies, rolling her eyes, and stepping in front of Geoff, rising up to attention like a soldier in front of their general before hurrying through the western wall gap with Ryan in tow. Jeremy hops the counter, as Michael all but drags Gavin over and through the eastern wall.

Geoff looks down at him, and tilts his head to the left, to their getaway car. Jeremy nods, following after him, before hearing the all too familiar deathrattle of someone with the single-minded purpose of revenge. He looks back, seeing the guard, the first guard he’d seen, raise his gun toward Geoff and fire. For some reason, a reason he’d probably never understand, Jeremy leans over and pushes Geoff out of the way. The bullet hits his forearm, sending a burning pain up his arm, and causing him to cry out in pain as the tiny .22 slug pierces directly between his ulna and radius, and then straight through the other side. Geoff looks down, shocked by the large amount of blood suddenly pouring down Jeremy’s arm, before steeling his resolve and pulling the shellshocked lad through the door and into their waiting getaway car, closing the door and speeding off.

Jeremy can vaguely hear someone calling him, saying something in a language he can’t understand and sounding ambiguously underwater. He looks over, tearing his eyes away from the small hole in his arm for a moment, and sees Geoff furiously talking into his earpiece. He looks distressed, barely focusing on the road, and looking over at Jeremy and speaking in that weird language over and over again.

“Did I do good, sir?” Jeremy asks, deliriously. “Did I make your crew proud?” In a second, the look on Geoff’s face changes from concern to absolute horror, as he reaches over, putting pressure on Jeremy’s arm. A combination of the pain and the sudden realization that, oh shit, he’s bleeding on Mr. Ramsey’s fancy three piece suit that probably costs more than his life is worth, brings him back into the real world, back to understanding English.

“Stay with me, buddy, stay with me. You gotta keep your eyes open, kid.”

“Did I do well, sir?” He repeats, lucidly this time. He vaguely remembers the scifi trope where androids cannot self-terminate without permission, and his heart starts to beat faster and faster. He’s returned to old ways, become automatic, nothing but a pawn to the king.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t talk like that. You’re gonna be fine. It’ll all be fine.” Geoff looks over, seeing the cognizance in Jeremys eyes start to fade, and says something else, something so quietly that at first the lad thinks he’s imagining it.

“You’re a fucking angel, kiddo. A goddamn angel.”

Jeremy chuckles, just a little. Aw, so he did have a heart.

“My life for yours, Mr. Ramsey, sir,” he says sarcastically, with the remaining few seconds of cognition before passing in and out of consciousness. He catches a few words and phrases (“that better be a fucking joke”, “bullet”, “medic”), but ultimately succumbs to the black void that envelops his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it’s taking me so long to update all my fics! Long story short, there was an incident in my shop with a brake caliper and I kinda had part of my good typing hand fucked up for a while, but I'm back at full capacity now! Also, bonus points if you catch the Hamilton reference (let's be real, Ryan the Theatre Major Guy would totally be a huge theatre nerd in any universe).


	4. Diet Food Isn't Diet if You Microwave It

Jeremy wakes up in a bed he doesn't recognize, in a room that definitely wasn’t his, and definitely wasn’t any room in the penthouse he’d ever seen. He was propped up with too many pillows to count, his arm throbbing with a dull ache in a black medical sling across his chest. He glanced to his left, seeing discarded IV bags on the side table, and bloodstained clothes (a white dress shirt and Hawaiian-print golf shirt) left in a pile in the corner.

The more he looks at the room, the more he knows exactly whose room he’s in. The empty liquor bottles piled in one corner, the closet full of ratty, over worn t-shirts and a single designer tuxedo, and the expensive silk sheets that were currently thrown to the side. This was Geoff’s room, no question about it.

“Guys?” Jeremy called out, slipping his feet over the side of the bed and onto the cold wood floor. He took a tentative step forward, then walked out the door, into the hallway. For once, the penthouse was absolutely silent, no sounds coming from anywhere except for a dull hum. He looked toward the kitchen, and saw Geoff standing in front of the microwave that was cooking away, looking down disinterestedly at his phone.

“Mr. Ramsey?” At that, the boss looked up, stowing his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants as Jeremy rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“Hey, you’re up. That’s good,” he says with a soft smile.

“Yeah, guess I am. Where’s everybody else?” Jeremy says, voice still a bit off from disuse. The microwave beeps, and Geoff pulls out a plate with a couple corndogs on it.

“Out at a victory dinner. You want one?” he says, offering up the plate. “They’re those weird vegetarian ones that Jack bought for her fuckin’ diet or whatever, but they’re still pretty good, I guess. For being basically cornmeal on a stick.” He shrugs, taking a bite out of one, and putting the plate onto the counter.

“Why aren’t you out with them? You should be out celebrating, sir,” Jeremy says, more confused than ever.

“First of all, what’d I tell you about calling me sir? Second of all, somebody had to be here when you woke up, so I just volunteered,” he shrugs again, pushing past Jeremy to sit on one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter, pulling his plate over.

Jeremy considers, for a second, all the questions he wants to ask, all the things he wants- no, _needs_ answers to. Geoff seems to read his mind, and pats the barstool beside him. Jeremy takes a seat, and a corndog. They’re actually not half bad.

“So you probably want to know about the arm, right?” Geoff starts, and Jeremy nods in response, mouth currently to full to speak.

“According to Jack, it’s a through and through. Missed your brachial artery by a couple millimeters, and went right through the gap between your radius and ulna. Or, in terms for people like us, it missed all the important shit. Couple months of physical therapy and you’ll be back to your good ol’ self.”

“Well that’s good to know,” Jeremy replies, feeling a metaphorical weight lift off his shoulders.

“Hey, uh, while we’re in the middle of “Geoff and Jerbear’s Crazy Happy Question Time”, do you mind if I ask you one?” Geoff says, almost nervously, avoiding Jeremy’s line of sight and staring instead at a peeling bit of paint on the bottom of the fridge door.

“Sure, whatever you want to ask, boss.”

“Why’d you do it?” Geoff asks, voice cracking halfway through his sentence. “Why’d you push me out of the way?”

“Because you’re my boss. You’re in charge of so much that makes my way of life possible, and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful that you took me in as part of your crew, even if all the rest of them are batshit insane.” Jeremy pauses a moment, considering what to say next very carefully. “And because I know you’d do the same if it was reversed. You actually care about the people below you, and that’s…that’s new for me. In my old crew, we were nothing but expendable tools. We could be traded like assets. But coming here, it’s like…it’s like being part of a family, a real family. I dunno, that might just be me being dumb…” he trails off, mentally kicking himself for saying so much. Geoff does nothing but solemnly nod once, and the lad takes it as an invitation to ask another question.

“On the heist, you said something about someone called Ray…”

“Ray was one of our crew, one of our best,” Geoff starts, with a fond smile, as if remembering all the good times. “He got out of the game after a heist gone wrong. Retired. Actually streams video games on the internet now, if you can believe that,” the gent chuckles sadly, the smile falling off his face as quickly as it appeared. “But since we’re criminals and he’s 'not', well, we can’t talk to him, or see him. It’s like he might as well be dead, and…and sometimes we get carried away with ‘avenging’ him. Especially since he’s not, y’know, dead, and there’s nothing to even avenge.”

“That’s…sorry I asked.”

“”s not your fault.”

There’s a moment of silence, where neither party says anything, they simply sit there, munching on their reconstituted mush-dogs. Then, Geoff breaks the stillness with a sigh.

“I was scared we were gonna lose you too. It was touch and go for a while. I mean, it’s one thing to lose contact with someone. It’s another thing to have them die in your arms from something that was your fault. And you weren’t helping matters much. Kept mumbling something incomprehensible about fabric.”

“I was worried I was gonna get blood on your suit.”

Geoff chuckles, “Leave it to Lil’ J to worry about inconveniencing me with 30% of his blood outside his body. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Well, you know, I try. I actually like that name, though,” Jeremy adds as an afterthought.

“Lil J? It’s a pretty good name, to be fair. I never don’t come up with good names.”

“Pretty sure it’s 'I never come up with bad names'.”

“Shut the fuck up and eat your shitty corndog,” Geoff says, smiling and hitting Jeremy’s good shoulder lightly enough to not jostle the other one.


	5. Wot Is Game Night?

“So, Jeremy,” Gavin starts, flopping next to the injured lad on the couch, temporarily distracting him from the absolute trouncing he was receiving in Mario Kart. Like, seriously, the guy has one working hand, and they choose Mario Kart for game night. Assholes.

“Why is it that you want to die so bad?” Gavin says in an extremely concerned tone, sounding like a mother after a parent teacher conference. At that, Jeremy bursts out in laughter, to Gav’s extreme chagrin.

“Dude, are you fuckin’ serious? I don’t wanna die,” he replies, finally managing to get past 5th place onscreen. Gavin reaches over and smacks the wiimote out of his hand, pausing the game. Michael groans and rolls his eyes, getting up to get something to eat and mumbling curses in Gav’s direction.

“We just want to make sure you’re okay!” Gavin squawks, and Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him. He coughs, then adds, “Okay, so it’s mostly me that’s worried.”

“I don’t have a deathwish, Gavin, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“See, but it wasn’t just getting shot to save Geoff, was it? The night before the heist, you stepped right in front of me without even thinking about it twice. And like, even though it was just something dumb, you still stepped in to protect me. That means a lot and I just want to make sure you aren’t going to try to be a bloody martyr all the time.” Jeremy stops to think for a second. For once, Gavin actually had a valid point. To an outsider, it would definitely seem like he wanted to die.

“It’s just…it’s what I was taught. In my old crew. You protect the important people before yourself,” he finally manages to spit out.

“But I’m no more important than you!” Gavin exclaims, his face only getting more filled with concern the more Jeremy talks.

“You were…Geoff was really buddy-buddy with you earlier that day, so I just…I just assumed you were important to him.”

“Gav is important to me, but so are you,” Geoff says, making Jeremy jump. He looks behind him and sees the gent leaning on the edge of the couch. Geoff tilts his head, and Gavin gives him his seat, standing there awkwardly for a second before going to the kitchen to bother Michael.

“He means well, but he doesn’t always get it,” Geoff says fondly, picking up Jeremy’s remote and handing it back to him carefully.

“No, I can see where he’s coming from. I guess…I guess I’m not used to not having a chain of command anymore. Like, it used to be that we had to protect the bosses with our lives, and we were told that a hundred of us were worth one of them, so it didn’t make it seem so bad…didn’t make it seem so bad to die, I guess.”

“You still feel like that?”

“Honestly? Not anymore. Like, I actually feel like I’m worth something, ya know? Like I’m not just a common foot soldier, I actually play a part in this crew.” Jeremy shrugs, readjusting his sling to be able to hold the controller.

“Good. You got people that care about you now, kid. ‘d hate to see you leave so early.” Geoff leans back in his seat, putting an arm over the back of Jeremy’s section of the couch.

“That means a lot, sir.”

“What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that? It’s weird. Makes it sound like you’re coming to pick my daughter up for the prom or something.”

“Fair enough,” Jeremy says with a laugh. Michael comes back from the kitchen with a plate of food, putting it on the coffee table before picking up his remote from the chair and sitting down.

“Alright, fucker, you ready to get fucking destroyed again?” he asks, with a grin.

“I mean, you’re beating a guy with one arm. Is that really a victory?”

“Fuck yeah it is,” Michael says, at the exact same time that Jack sits down in the other chair and says, “Whoa, wait, who’s beating off a guy with one arm?”

“No, beating. _Beating._ As in, beating at Mario Kart,” Jeremy clarifies.

“Oh, good. I thought we were going to have to call in the cleaners for the couch again.”

“Hey, what if I just held the other side of the controller for you?” Geoff says, gently prying the right side of the controller from Jeremy’s bad hand, holding it slightly away, avoiding touching his bad arm.

“I mean, sure, if the judges agree to it,” Jeremy replies with a one-sided shrug.

“Fine with me. Just don’t’ cry when you get your asses kicked,” Michael laughs, unpausing the game.

Surprisingly, the arrangement works, and apart from a couple “drive left, you asshole”s and a few “motherfucker, if you don’t hold the controller straight I swear to god”s, they do pretty well. Geoff bumps into Jeremy’s arm a couple times, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d assumed it would. The little jump his heart gives is a different story, though. Michael screams at them almost constantly, and even throws his remote at Geoff when they pass the finish line, just beating him out for second place.

“You motherfuckers! Cheating motherfuckers!”

“You agreed to it, Michael! You did this to yourself,” Geoff points out, which only causes Michael to get more angry. He stalks off to the kitchen, presumably to get more food to wolf down. Rage like that burns a lot of calories.

“We make a great team, huh, Lil J?” Geoff says, with one of his signature cancer-curing giggles. Jeremy can’t help but smile, because yeah, they do make a pretty great team.

“Got that right, Geoff.”

“Oh shit, he’s got the capability to learn. Somebody call Mensa ‘cause we’ve got a prodigy on our hands,” Jack says, not looking up from her book.

“Well, Jack. Playing on the same controller automatically strengthens the bond between two people, didn’t you know. It’s almost on the same level as seeing each other’s dicks, it’s that important,” Jeremy jokes, laughing when Jack groans and furrows her eyebrows.

“Let’s not take it that far, boys. I don’t need to walk in on another couch incident.”

“Listen, that one was your fault. There was sock on the door, you know that means that somebody has their dick out,” Geoff protests.

“I didn’t at all know what that meant, and let me just say, walking in on you with your Vienna sausage out was not the most pleasant experience of my life.”

“Let’s be real here, Jack, I’m way more of a bratwurst,” Geoff brags, just as a throwing knife sticks into the wall above the tv, causing everyone except for Jack to nearly jump off the couch.

“Alright! Alright! I’m done, I won’t talk about it!” Geoff yells, voice cracking in fear. Jeremy looks back, and sees Ryan give him an innocent-looking thumbs up from the kitchen.


	6. Take Your Medicine

“Take your fucking antibiotics, you little fuck,” Geoff calls out, catching Jeremy trying to slink past the orange pill bottle left neatly on the kitchen counter. The lad stops in his tracks, realizing that he’s been seen.

“Listen, Geoff-“

“No, don’t you ‘listen, Geoff’ me. Take your fucking pills,” Geoff says, hopping off the couch to confront Jeremy face to face.

“They’re like horse pills, Geoff, the things are the size of a fucking fifty cal bullet,” he complains, while the older gent looks on unamused and unmoved. He opens the bottle, tipping out one of the huge pills into his hand. He holds it up for Jeremy to take, only to be met with a petulant head shake.

“I’m not taking it,” the lad counters.

“You’re gonna get sepsis in your fucking arm if you don’t, so take your fucking pill.”

“It’s just not realistic, boss.”

“It’s about to be really realistic in a second when I shove this pill down your throat,” Geoff says, raising an eyebrow, and pushing the pill closer to Jeremy’s mouth. The lad takes a step back, and Geoff takes it as an attempt to escape. He reaches out to grab the lad’s shirt, managing to grasp the front of Jeremy’s shirt, preventing him from backing away any further.

“Eat it, eat the pill. Fucking take your medicine, you little shit,” he says, trying to push the thing into his mouth.

“That’s rude, don’t call me sh-“Jeremy starts to protest, before Geoff finally manages to pop the antibiotic into his mouth. He bites down in surprise, accidentally catching two of Geoff’s fingers. The gent raises his eyebrows in surprise, not saying a word, but not moving his hand away either. He looks up, right into Jeremy’s eyes, and opens his mouth to say something before…

“Why the fuck is it that every time I’m in the room with you two something like this happens?” Jack sighs exasperatedly, surprising both of them as she walks into the kitchen and starts making herself a bowl of cereal.

“What do you mean by that?” Jeremy asks, spitting out Geoff’s fingers. No telling where those things have been.

“I mean you’re always all over each other. Touching arms, or fighting over something with your hands near each other’s chests,” she says, and at that, Geoff loosens his grip on the lad’s shirt, dropping his hands back to his sides, his face going slightly redder than before.

“Honestly, like, just bang and get it out of your system already. Any more tension and this place might explode. Like, Jesus Christ, between you guys and Michael and Gavin this place is like a powder keg,” Jack continues.

“We’re not…it’s not like that,” Jeremy says. As the words leave his mouth, though, he knows it’s not entirely true. There is _something_ there. Something just infinitesimal enough that he can push it to the back of his head, but there is something. Those little spells he has when Geoff laughs, or tells him he’s done a good job, where his heart swells with a pride he’s never had before. He tries to play it off as just a side effect of the new crew dynamic, but that doesn’t explain it entirely. And there was that one dream he’d had… But, for now, it’s easier to just push those feelings deeper and deeper down than to actually deal with them. Nothing good could come of any of those outcomes anyway.

“It’s just a pair of good friends being friendly with each other, jeez, Jack,” Geoff says, the joking tone obvious in his voice. Jeremy’s not sure which part he’s joking about, the phrasing or the concept, which only makes him all the more confused.

“You see,” Geoff continues, “I was just making sure our new protégé here actually took his medicine, and didn’t get gangrene and die. I’m being the responsible leader you always tell me to be.”

“I mean, I can’t blame the kid for not wanting to, those pills are huge.”

“Thank god, someone agrees with me!” Jeremy enthuses, gesturing toward Jack with his good hand, while giving Geoff a smug look.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to take them,” Jack admonishes, slightly dulling Jeremy’s enjoyment about being validated.

“I mean, c’mon Jack, it’s been a week and a half, do I really have to keep taking these gross things?”

“Yes. It’s a 14 day cycle, you have to take all 14 days worth,” she says, picking up her bowl and leaving the room without another word on the matter. Jeremy turns back to Geoff and sees the smuggest look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. You were right and I was wrong, what else is new?” Jeremy sighs, readjusting his sling and rolling his eyes.

“Daddy’s never wrong, Lil J,” Geoff says with a laugh. “You should start listening to me more often.”

“This is literally one of the only times you’ve been right about anything that isn’t cards or booze.”

“I’ll have you know, the fancy term for fancy fuckers like us is “liquor”, Jeremy, get it right. And speaking of liquor, I’m gonna have a big ol’ glass of scotch and pretend that my fingers weren’t just in your mouth,” Geoff snarks, passing by Jeremy into the kitchen and pulling a half full bottle off the top of the cabinet, and pulling out two crystal glasses.

“You want some?” he asks, pouring a drink for himself, and another before Jeremy can reply one way or another, pushing the drink across the counter to him.

“Am I even allowed to drink on these things?” Jeremy asks, pointing to his bottle of pills.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want, dude. I think it’ll just make you more dizzy, which shouldn’t be too much of a problem, since you got me to watch out for you.” The pair clink their glasses together in an informal toast, before downing the stuff. It burns Jeremy’s throat on the way down, and he puts the glass back down onto the counter with a shake of his head.

“Jesus, that’s strong stuff.”

“You think I drink the cheap shit? Hell no, I have at least _some_ taste. Only the finest things are good enough for the king of the Fakes,” Geoff says, though Jeremy can tell that he’s joking about the last thing (he’d once seen Geoff wolf down three Wendy’s cheeseburgers and six Coronas then pass out on the couch in 30 minutes flat), but he plays along anyway.

“Hail to the king, baby,” he says, and Geoff smiles and pours him another drink.


	7. Like a Poltergeist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so...listen...this chapter is gonna have literally almost no relevance to the plot at large, so if you have an aversion to implied /almost/ dick stuff you should probably just skip it tbh. and yes, i know im shameful for this, i know.

“Jeremy? Can you help me with something?” Geoff asks, voice carrying to the couch from the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure, what do you need, boss?” he responds, speaking, but not really hearing his own voice. Huh, that was weird.

“I need something that only you can give me, bud,” the gent says, putting a hand on Jeremy’s chest. The corner of his mouth quirks upward, into a sort of smirk that Jeremy’s never seen on his face before. That aside, he suddenly wonders when he walked all the way over here. He doesn’t even remember leaving the couch, much less…

“Anything for you, Mr. Ramsey, sir,” he hears himself say, again, without thinking about it. What the fuck is even going on?

“Aren’t you just the sweetest,” Geoff croons, hooking a thumb into one of Jeremy’s belt loops and pulling him closer.

“Sir? What are you-“ Jeremy starts, before being struck dumb by Geoff bringing a hand up to his face, caressing his jaw with the back of his knuckles, stopping just under his chin and tilting his face upward, sending a shiver down the lad’s spine.

“Are you okay with this?” Geoff says, taking another half-step closer, enough for Jeremy to see the fire in his bright blue eyes. There’s a hunger there, just waiting to be brought to the surface.

“Yes sir. My life for yours, Mr. Ramsey.”

“Your life isn’t exactly what I’m asking for, Jeremy, but I’m sure you know that,” he says, moving the hand that was just in his belt up to cup the side of his jaw and bring him even closer. Then, in an instant, Geoff’s lips were on his, hands drawing him closer and closer. He could feel the buttons on Geoff’s dress shirt scraping against the front of his t-shirt, his lips pressing against the lad’s, moving down his face to his chin, then down into the crook of his neck. The gent's lips were slightly parted, sharp teeth dragging across Jeremy’s skin and raising goosebumps across his shoulders and down his arms.

“God, Geoff,” Jeremy breathes, and feels him smile into his shoulder.

“You like that, huh? You want me to keep going?” he asks, breath coasting tantalizingly over Jeremy’s skin.

“Yes, god yes, that’s all I want,” Jeremy manages to stutter, finally reopening his eyes, and seeing the muted reds of Geoff’s bedroom. Wait, how did he get here?

“Tell me all the things you want to do to me, all the things you’re keeping locked up tight in that pretty little head of yours,” Geoff growls quietly, just enough to make another cold chill go down the lad’s spine.

“I…I want…” Jeremy stutters, temporarily stuck for the correct words.

“Come on, there’s got to be some fantasy up there that I can help you with. You want to be a good little soldier, right? Help out your commanding officer?”

“More than anything, sir. Anything you want.”

“Then tell me.” Geoff says, punctuating his sentence by loosening Jeremy’s belt. “What.” He pulls the buckle open, letting it hang to the side. “You.” He undoes Jeremy’s button and zipper, the soft noise like a choir to the lad’s ears. “Want.”

“I…just want to make you feel good, sir. What I want doesn’t matter, it’s just what you want,” Jeremy says, and Geoff stops for a second, his act breaking, and looking up with real concern.

“Of course what you want matters. Everything about you matters, Jeremy.”

“But I’m…I’m just a pawn, I’m meant to assist you until I can’t anymore, so just…just let me assist you. Sir,” the lad replies, avoiding eye contact. The next thing he knows is that Geoff is redoing his belt, and wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Stop calling me that. I’m not your boss, I’m not some sort of dictator that control what you do, that’s all just…that’s all just an act. I dunno, it adds like, a bit of fun to it all, I guess. But it’s not for real, not for one second. I’m no more important than you are, really.”

“No, I just…I want to do something for you,” Jeremy says, pulling away and lightly pushing Geoff backward onto the bed. Weren’t they just in the middle of the room?

He gets down onto his knees, reaching for the belt of Geoff’s jeans with both hands. Wasn’t the gent just in his suit? And why is his arm suddenly fixed?

“Is this okay?” he asks, looking up at the gent for approval. Geoff nods his head, and mumbles an almost embarrassed “yes”. Jeremy unbuckles his belt carefully, pulling it fully from the loops with one quick pull. He undoes the button of his jeans, and pulls down the zipper. He pulls the jeans down Geoff’s legs to the floor, but in the split second he blinks his eyes, the gent disappears, as unattainable and effervescent as ever, leaving the room empty.

\-----------------------

Jeremy wakes up in a cold sweat, to the muted blue of his own bedroom. He can vaguely hear Jack snoring across the hall, and somebody running water in the bathroom down the way. The light filtering in through the window is enough to illuminate the rest of his messy room, exactly as he’d left it.

“Shit, must’ve just been a dream,” he says, just loud enough for him to confirm that his voice was actually coming from his mouth. Then he takes a second to think, really think, about the implications behind it.

“Well fuck. That’s probably gonna come back to haunt me. Like a fucking dick poltergeist,” he mumbles, wincing at his own convoluted metaphor. “Jesus, that one was painful. I need some fuckin’ sleep.”

He pulls the covers back over his head, trying to keep out the rapidly cooling late fall air. For a southern beach city, this place sure got really fucking cold really goddamn quick. As he drifts back off, he can vaguely hear footsteps in the hall, and his door creaking open.

“You alright in here, Lil J?” Gavin’s voice carries, a slight bit of worry in his tone. “You were snoring pretty loud, wanted to make sure you didn’t buy it in your sleep when the noise stopped.”

“Nah, I’m fine, Gav. Arm hurts a little, but I’ll manage.”

“Fair. I’ll leave you to it, then. If the arm gets worse just let Geoff or Jack know,” the other lad says cheerfully, before closing the door and wandering off back down the hall. It only takes a minute for Jeremy to fall back into a deep, thankfully dreamless, sleep.


	8. In Screaming Color

“It’s just a simple little job to get back in the swing of things. I’m not gonna throw you back into the pool right after you almost drowned. Gotta start back at square one with the floaties with rubber ducks on ‘em,” Geoff says matter-of-factly, handing Jeremy a gilded pistol.

“This isn’t my gun, Geoff,” the lad replies, taking it in his recovering arm and checking the magazine quickly. Geoff clicks the barrels together in a fake toast, before Jeremy puts his into the police holster under his jacket. He feels a twinge under his skin, and scratches at the circular scar where the hole in his arm used to be. Amazing what two months can do for a person.

“I know. Call it a perk of the job. If we’re gonna be on top of the crime scene, we have to be on top of the fashion scene too,” the gent says with a one-sided smirk. The light filtering into the alley next to the convenience store they were about to rob glinted off the sunglasses Geoff was wearing; a pair of silver aviators that Jeremy had bought him with the payout from his first and only heist. Solid silver frames. Only the best for the king of Los Santos.

“It’s a simple job,” the gent continued, “in and out, all the money in the register and then we disappear into the afternoon sun like nothing ever happened. Well, first we use the ehmp Gavin made us, _then_ we hide,” he taps the side of the dumpster next to him with his knuckles, “in this here beauty.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s E.M.P. not ehmp-“

“Tomato tomahto, Lil J, tomato tomahto.”

“Second of all, I’m not hiding in a gross dumpster with you.”

“You’ve been in worse places.”

“The only place I’ve ever been that was worse than a literal dumpster was Michael and Gavin’s room, and that was only because…things…were happening,” Jeremy replies, giving an exaggerated for emphasis gag. “There was a lot of, you know what? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Well if you don’t want to hide in the perfectly fine dumpster then maybe you can book it with Michael when he comes back around for the handoff,” Geoff shrugs, leaning against the only relatively clean spot on the big metal monstrosity. “You can hold hands like a real married couple, and I can do the bump and pass, and away we go.”

“No thanks, I think the original plan is just fine for me. I need to make sure you don’t do something incredibly stupid.” Of course, that was only the surface reason for Jeremy wanting to stick to the original plan. What happened if something else went wrong? Something beyond Geoff’s control? He needed backup, needed someone to be there with him.

“Alright then. We have,” Geoff looks down at his watch, “about a minute and twenty seconds ‘til Michael passes by, so we better get going.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Geoff rounds the corner, strolling casually up to the door of the convenience store and striding confidently through the front door. Jeremy follows, only a half-step behind, and walks directly into the clerk pointing a cheap .22 directly at Geoff’s face. The acne-ridden teen looks about ready to piss his pants, the barrel shaking like mad in the flickering light of a closed circuit monitor. How the fuck did Geoff get himself into trouble so fast? The gun dangling loosely in the gent’s hand answers that question before Jeremy can even start to think about it. He must not have even tried to put the damn thing away before walking in.

“We just want the money, kid. Just give us the money and that’ll be the end of it. You can go home to your mom and dad, we can go home to our families, and everyone gets what they want,” Geoff soothes, reaching slowly into his pocket for the E.M.P. Jeremy hears the telltale sound of servos deactivating as the lights go dark. He makes a split second decision to pull Geoff toward him by the arm, a pit forming in his stomach as he hears a quiet yelp after a gunshot. He pulls Geoff out the door, and into the alley, racing back to the dumpster.

“Stop, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Geoff says, shoving the lad forward with one hand in the center of his back. “Get going, get out of here.”

“Absolutely not,” Jeremy answers turning around, only to see the gent holding the side of his face, a track of blood coming from under his hand. “Holy shit, are you bleeding?”

“What the fuck did I just say? Get the fuck out of here! The cops are gonna be swarming any second!”

“Are you bleeding? Like for real bleeding? Are you okay, do you need-“

“I’m not gonna keep repeating myself, Jeremy! It’s a graze. I’m fine. Now get the fuck out of here!” Geoff nearly yells, moving the hand away from his face to reveal a small scrape across his cheekbone.

“No! Now get in the dumpster before I have to lift you in there!” Jeremy yells back, almost proud of the surprise and indignation on Geoff’s face.

“Get the fuck away! This is a fucking sinking ship, get off now while there’s still lifeboats,” Geoff practically hisses, pointing a finger at him, and only stepping back when Jeremy grabs his wrist.

“My life for yours, Mr. Ramsey,” Jeremy says, as quickly and calmly as he can manage. “Now get the fuck in the glorified metal trash can.”

Geoff looks like he wants to argue, wants to say something, but settles for climbing over the green metal and into the empty space inside, moving aside a few boxes to make space. Thank god this was the recyclables dumpster. Jeremy quickly follows, closing the lid as soon as his head is clear of the opening. They sit in silence for almost a minute, listening to the police cars arrive on scene.

“What the fuck is your damage?” Geoff finally hisses in the darkness. Jeremy looks over, and sees, in the dimmest light, but clear as day, a mask of disappointment and righteous anger on his face.

“What the fuck do you mean?” the lad hisses back, keeping his voice down.

“I mean why the fuck are you still going with that self-deprecating bullshit?” Geoff’s voice manages to crack even while whispering, as they hold still and quiet as footsteps come near, then pass by, in the other direction.

“It’s not self-deprecating, it’s true, you fucking moron!”

“No! No it’s fucking not! I need to trust you! I need to trust that when you say you'll be right behind me, I can trust that you'll actually be _right_ behind me! And not two steps ahead with a bullet in your fucking brain just ‘cause some punk pointed a gun at me!” Geoff’s voice starts to go hoarse at the end, getting raspy, and ending in a series of muffled coughs. Jeremy feels all the anger drain out of his body as he continues, even though it obviously hurts him to do so. “There are people that care about you, Jeremy. _I_ care about you. Don’t act like you’re just another bullet shield, because you’re not.”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…I don’t…” the lad stutters, not being able to propose any sort of valid argument. Because he’s right, Geoff’s right, dammit.

“I’m sorry,” Geoff says, voice much softer than anything previously. “I know it’s not your fault. I know that. I just…I worry. That one day you’ll be dead, and it’ll be because of me.” He reaches out in the darkness, managing to find Jeremy’s arm just as another set of footsteps passes them by. The gent wraps his hand around Jeremy’s forearm, pressing his thumb against the tiny circle of scar tissue. “You took a bullet for me once, I don’t need for you to do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And for the love of god, stop calling me that.”


	9. Hello Kitty Band-aids and C4

“Sit still, dude, you’re getting peroxide all over the rest of your fucking face,” Jeremy complains, trying to dab at the slice on Geoff’s cheek for the fifth time, after he yet again ducks out of the way.

“It hurrrrrts,” the gent complains with a high pitched whine and a pout.

“You’re honestly such a child,” Jeremy sighs, finally managing to swipe the soaked cotton ball over the wound, feeling Geoff wince and move away before he can clean it entirely. “Just hold fuckin’ still for two seconds,” he says, holding Geoff’s chin still with one hand, and finally managing to get rid of all the dried blood with the other.

“Do I get a lollipop now, Doc?” Geoff asks, swatting the hands away from his face.

“Not until I get a bandaid on it,” Jeremy admonishes, taking a bandage out of the cardboard box beside Geoff’s legs on the counter. “Looks like we’re down to the last few Hello Kitty ones.”

“I’m not putting that on, Jeremy. It’s just not realistic.”

“Geoff, there are two ways this can go. The first way is that you let me put this piece of pink plastic on your face without any shenanigans,” Jeremy slams a hand onto the counter beside the gent, nearly making him jump backward off the shallow surface. “The second option is that I pin you down, and put the bandaid on your face anyway. We both know I could do it, but is that really what you want?” he continues with a devious smirk. Geoff looks up, eyes wide, but not entirely with fear. The lad takes advantage of the few seconds of shock, putting the bandage neatly over the gash on the gent’s cheek.

“See, much better. And I swear we’ll get you some better ones later. Michael and I have to go grocery shopping later anyway.”

“Sure, sure,” Geoff says, clearing his voice, and hopping off the counter. “Just make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.”

“No promises.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“So is there a reason why not only are three people suddenly needed for a grocery trip, but also why we’re taking a car that doesn’t even have room for groceries?” Jeremy yells over the wind whipping around the rollcage of Michael’s Bifta.

“Well there’s a simple answer for that, Lil J. We’re not actually going grocery shopping,” Michael replies with a smirk from behind the wheel. “You’ve officially been invited on the 4th biannual-“

“The pun was my idea,” Ryan adds helpfully from the backseat.

“-demolition and destruction ride of Team Crazy Mad.” 

“It’s basically just an excuse for Michael and I to fuck shit up without judgement. We tell Jack we’ll go grocery shopping, she pretends not to know that we’re loading sixty pounds of explosives into the trunk, it’s a good system,” Ryan explains, and Michael nods in agreement.

“So why am I here? I’m not a demolitions expert, I’m-“

“A close quarters specialist with a double classification in infiltration and bodyguarding at the highest level of your previous organization, including two of its previous leaders and several million-plus dollar haul heists,” Ryan interrupts, reciting facts that Jeremy had long since become unsure of with no hesitation. It was as simple for him as repeating his own phone number. “You think we’d let you around Geoff without vetting you first?”

“I mean, I guess not. That…that makes sense, it’s just…just weird hearing all that come from someone else’s mouth.”

Ryan chuckles, pulling his mask over his face and giving the rearview a sympathetic look.

“Not all of us have scars to show our devotion, kid,” he says, slightly muffled. Before Jeremy can question that, or even think about it for more than a second, the car jolts forward, the telltale sound of an approaching police car behind them.

“Cops on your six, Michael.”

“I _know_ that, Ryan. The entire _point_ is to draw aggro from the police station.”

“Wait, hold on, did I just hear you say we were going to-“Jeremy starts, before Michael cuts him off again. Nobody can get a damn word in edgewise in this car.

“Yeah, dumbass. We’re drawing all the little police rats out from their posts around the station, we lead ‘em on a little chase, then when most of ‘em are clear, we blow the charges underneath the building and send it sky high.”

Something about Jeremy’s expression must still seem confused, because Michael feels like he has to explain himself with “I got a parking ticket on the Double-o Mog, and I really don’t feel like paying it, but hey, the city still needs at least a few boys in blue to keep everything from going to shit, so we came up with this.”

“So let me get this straight, you’re going to blow up the entire police station?”

“Yes.”

“To avoid paying a parking ticket?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit, you guys are fucking crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“It’s not crazy that killed the cat, Lil J,” Ryan admonishes, finally deigning it important to shoot at the squad car behind them, taking out one of its tires and sending it flying into the median.

“Should be enough for them to send a battalion. Now we just do a couple circles, wait for them to show up, then boom! No more parking ticket,” Michael enthuses.

“Or, and here’s an idea, we could blow the charges now, and draw the cops away from _us_ and make a clear getaway,” Jeremy suggests, whiteknuckling the rollbar even more than usual.

“That’s a pretty heavy crime, kid,” Ryan says, his tone that of a stern father telling his son off about missing curfew.

“Are you…are you being serious? Ryan, we kill people for a living, collapsing one station is not going to-“In the distance, something booms, sending a plume of dust up into the multicolored sunset, shadowing part of downtown as the thin film creates an artificial cloud across the sky.

Both passengers look over at Michael, who has his phone in hand, and a sheepish look on his face, like a puppy who’s just destroyed an expensive Persian rug.

“Uh, oops? I swear it never happens this quick, baby,” he jokes, earning an unimpressed jeer from Ryan, and a genuine chuckle from Jeremy.


	10. How To: Grocery Shopping

“So we’re actually going shopping for real?” Jeremy asks, relieved to see the front of the local mom and pop grocery store when he steps out of Jack’s busted old beater Honda. The thing sounded like it was going to fall apart any time they passed 30 miles an hour, and it was honestly terrifying.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Jack says, ducking back into the car to grab her wallet from the center console, before closing and locking the driver’s side door.

“Oh, no reason…”

“Well then let’s go. The boys aren’t going to feed themselves,” she pauses for a second as they near the door, almost hesitantly, before continuing. “And there’s a small bit of business I have to take care of with the clerk, but nevermind that. You just focus on getting the food, I’ll focus on the other stuff.” She gives Jeremy a fond pat on the head, before holding the door open for him.

“Donny, Donny, Donny!” Jeremy hears her exclaim as he takes a cart and starts going down the aisle with it, tossing in a bunch of junk food for Gavin and Michael.

“I heard from Mama Petrini that you missed out on your payment this week. That’s not good, Donny, not good at all.”

“Jack, I swear I’ll have the money by Thursday,” the clerk manages to squeak. Jeremy can see him in the mirror above the aisle as he throws more boxes into the cart. The kid can’t be more than 19, scrawny as hell and almost shrinking under Jack’s gaze despite being a full foot taller than her.

“Thursday isn’t good for me, Donny. You were supposed to have it _today_. I want my money, you little cretin.” Jeremy tosses an expensive bottle of whiskey on top of the boxes randomly assembled in the basket, wincing as he hears the pile shift.

“I swear I’ll have it, I swear I will, I swear!”

“I spent 10k of my own fucking _money_ on your little idea, and it fucking _failed._ So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna have both my money _and_ my coke by tomorrow, or, and this is a big or, I’ll call up my good friend the Vagabond, and we’ll see how much you like seeing your own intestines. We reached an understanding here?”

“Y-yes ma’am,” the kid stutters, and Jeremy can almost feel his blood run cold as Jack is silent for a moment.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Donny.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Ma- uh, I’m sorry Miss.”

“Better. Well, now that that unpleasantness is over, I assume that you have that thing I asked you to get me?”

“Yeah, I uh…I special ordered it for you. One chrome butcher’s knife, gift wrapped.”

“Good, good,” Jack enthuses, as Jeremy comes back up to the front with the cart, now nearly overflowing with boxes and bottles. The kid, Donny, looks relieved to be within range of someone that might help him, then his face falls as he sees the peek of gold shining from under Jeremy’s jacket.

“You guys can just take all that if you want,” he says, pointing to the cart full of groceries, drawing Jack’s attention to it. She looks up, giving Jeremy a look as if to say “Really? You can’t even organize a shopping cart?” He shrugs in response, and she rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Thanks, Don. Tell your mama I said hello,” Jack says pleasantly, starting to put things together, and neatly into plastic bags, then back in the cart. Jeremy attempts to help, but she shoos him away after he tries to put dryer sheets and easy mac in the same bag, which apparently is a huge faux pas. Who knew putting things in plastic was such a complicated task?

The entire time that they’re struggling, the clerk just stands there, looking like every second next to Jack is an unbearable agony. Which is totally understandable, considering she just threatened to have him disemboweled by one of the city’s most notorious killers. Not exactly something that makes you want to invite someone out to a Sunday picnic with your grandma.

Jack gives the kid a cold smile as they leave, Jeremy pushing the cart, and Jack holding the knife, all wrapped in shiny blue and black paper with a bright green bow. The thing looked like an aesthetic nightmare, to be quite honest.

“Present for Ryan,” she explains, putting it in the backseat as they get to the car. She pops the trunk and starts to help Jeremy put the groceries in. “The guy just loves knives for some reason, I’m not quite sure why, but- hey, put the heavy stuff up front.”

“Huh?”

“Put the heavy bags near the latch, that way they won’t squish the rest of the stuff.”

“Okay, got it.” After that, it takes only a few minutes before they’re on their way, the old import car taking a few tries to start back up.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jack says, as they turn onto the street from the parking lot. “’You’re rich, why not just get a new car?’ Well, I could do that, but here’s the thing.” She readjusts her sunglasses as the sun comes out from behind a tall building. “I’ve had this piece of shit since I met Geoff, since the very beginning. And…and it’s hard to get rid of something that feels like an old friend, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. I get that completely,” Jeremy nods, because he does, he does understand.

“You know,” Jack says, casually, turning to give him a soft look. “Geoff really likes you.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good friends. It’s weird, being friends with the boss, honestly. Not bad, just weird,” Jeremy says, feeling like a liar. But it’s not a lie, now is it? More of a half-truth. Jack laughs, just a quiet chuckle, at that.

“Yeah, the best of friends. But you know what else? I’ve never seen that light in Geoff’s eyes in the years and years I’ve known him, but since you’ve been here? He’s like a completely different person. And not…he was different after Ray left too, but this is something else, something better.” Jack twitches her head, and brushes a bright red curl out of her face with one hand. “Sorry, got a little verbose there. You want to stop for ice cream on the way back?”

“Do you even have to ask?”


	11. Interpersonal Communication Lessons feat. Gavino Free

“Hey, Jeremy, can I talk to you for a second?” Gavin asks, as the other lad is helping Jack put away the last of the boxes, both of them struggling to reach the higher shelves.

“Yeah, what is it, Gav?” Jeremy replies, not looking away from his current task of trying to fit another box of snacks into the already packed bottom shelf.

“No, I mean, like, a private conversation. No offense, Jack.”

“None taken, Gavin,” Jack responds cheerily, taking the box from Jeremy’s hands and tossing it into one of the empty higher shelves. “Go on, get going,” she says, shooing the lads out of the kitchen and into the hall. Gavin silently leads Jeremy into the spare bedroom, which only makes the whole situation seem more suspicious. He closes the door lightly behind them and sighs.

“What’s this all about, Gavin? I’m supposed to be helping Jack with-“Jeremy starts, before Gavin cuts him off.

“Jeremy, can I tell you something? You, um, you might not like it, though,” Gavin says, his voice just the slightest bit nervous.

“Sure, go ahead,” the other lad responds, more curious than anything.

“You can’t keep trying to die for Geoff.” That sentence hits Jeremy like a boxer’s punch because that’s not what he’s been trying to do, he’s just been trying to protect him, keep him safe. And if he just so happened to die in the process, it would be no huge loss. There were hundreds of guys just like him, but Geoff? Geoff was something else.  

“I’m not trying to die for Geoff, I’m just-“ he tries to justify himself, tries to explain his side of things, even though he knows Gavin won’t believe him.

“No, you shush for a second,” Gavin says, more forcefully than Jeremy’s ever heard him be before. “You are. You think you can protect Geoff by just jumping in front of all his problems, but that’s not going to end well.”

“Yes it would, Gavin, because even if I…even if something happens to me, you guys’ll still have Geoff. And that’s worth anything that happens to me.”

“Jeremy, think about this for a second,” Gavin pauses to think again, before continuing, “Let me tell you something about Michael and I. I would do anything for Michael, you know I would. I love him more than anything in this world. But I wouldn’t die for him.”

“Gavin, that’s-“

“No, you listen. I wouldn’t die for him, because I know that I can survive without him. I could make it through life without my precious Micoo. It’d hurt, and every day would be like a living agony. I’d be living without the best friend I’ve ever had. But him? Mogar would burn the city down for me in a second, self-destruct until there was nothing left but rubble and blackened ash. So letting him go? Going through the pain of losing him? Is my only option. Because hurting him like that would be so much worse.”

“What does this have to do with me and Geoff? We’re not…we’re not as close as you and Michael. Michael loves you, probably more than anything else, but Geoff? Geoff’s just my boss, he doesn’t feel like that towards me,” Jeremy says, trying to pointedly ignore Gavin wiping the tears out of his eyes, trying to save some semblance of decorum.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says finally, looking straight into his eyes with the most piercing gaze he’s ever been subjected to, “What do you think Geoff would do if you died for him?”

“He’d…he would…”

“He would destroy everything you ever loved about this city without a second thought. And he’d hate himself for it, he’d hate himself more than anything, because somewhere deep down, he’d know that it’s his fault you’re dead. Because he loved you too much, and it caused your death. Imagine how that’d tear him apart. Do you really want that?” The question hits the very center of Jeremy’s heart, because it’s what he’d been wondering for the longest time. Was it really worth it to let Geoff go to save him? He knew that his answer to that was yes, absolutely, but would Geoff say the same?

“He doesn’t…it’s not like that, Gav.”

“It is, Jeremy, and you’re just too stuck in your own head to see it. Everyone else can see it, even if you can’t. The way you get stuck staring at his hands during heist meetings sometimes, the way he literally only bothers to share his expensive drinks with you-“ Gavin stops and sighs, lowering his voice. “Okay, so imagine this. It’s a heist, I’m standing beside Geoff, you’re on the other side of me. And Geoff is facing a guard with a gun, about to shoot. You’d never make it to Geoff in time to move him out of the way, or jump in front of him, but. You can throw me into the path, and save Geoff. Do you?”

“What? I…no, I would never do that! Why would I ever do that?”

“What’s the difference between you and I then, Lil J? Throwing me into the path gets the same result. Geoff is safe, he’s fine. So what’s different?”

“You’re not…you’re…Geoff loves you guys, he would never want me to sacrifice one of you for him. _I_ would never want to do that!”

“But he cares about you too! You’re not less important than any of us!”

“But I am! You guys are so important, and I’m just…I’m not even supposed to be here, I didn’t earn my way in like you guys did! I’m just-“

“Jeremy, you matter to us. To Geoff, especially. And it doesn’t matter if you earned your way in, you’re still a Fake, and that’s final. You matter just as much as me, or Michael, or Jack, or even Ryan. Don’t think for a single second that Geoff wouldn’t be just as upset if you died as he would if it was any of us. You haven’t even noticed the way he keeps telling you to stay safe, and you keep ignoring him, and the utter loss on his face because he knows he could lose you in an instant without telling you that he lov-“Gavin stops, as Geoff opens the door, face suddenly a mask of confusion, and Jeremy’s cell phone in his hand.

“I uh, am I interrupting something?” he asks, raising one eyebrow and smirking.

“No, we were just talking about something for the next heist. What’s up?” Gavin recovers, almost instantly lapsing back into his normal self, all sense of seriousness gone.

“You left your phone on the couch, and it started ringing. Figured I’d bring it to you,” Geoff says cheerfully, handing the still vibrating phone to Jeremy. “Oh, and Gav? Jack needs help putting away the groceries.” The gent flashes them both a pair of finger guns, and Gavin follows him out of the room with a sigh. Jeremy looks down, recognizing the number and feeling his heart drop into his stomach.

“Hello?” he answers tentatively.

“Jeremy! Long time no talk,” the voice of his former boss nearly barks into the receiver. “We have an assignment for you.”

“I don’t work for you, Shannon,” Jeremy replies, temporarily galvanized by Gavin’s words, and immediately regrets it when the next statement makes his blood run cold.

“’Shannon’? Have you forgotten your place, son? It’s McCormick to you. And I need you to help us with something.”

“I don’t work for you,” Jeremy repeats with conviction. “I’m a Fake now, I don’t work for you.”

“Well isn’t that a shame, because the rest of the city does. And we’ll remember this when we’ve got what we want, Dooley. Don’t you think for a second we won’t.” Then, suddenly as the call started, the receiver goes dead, the telltale chime of a disconnected call sending a chill of fear down Jeremy’s spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kevin hart from that one comedy special voice* it's about to go /down/


	12. Scotch or Whiskey?

The labels on all the bottles started to blend together as Jeremy fell more and more into his own thoughts, and thought less and less about picking out a nice bottle of whiskey, or scotch, or whatever.

Gavin had said he was a Fake, and sounded quite sure about it, but Jeremy didn’t quite feel safe in that assumption. Something about calling himself a part of the crew still felt wrong. He would protect any of them with his life, sure (he tries not to think too much into the fact that he’d die for Geoff without a second of hesitation), but did that mean that they felt the same way towards him? He wasn’t sure he even wanted that to be the case.

“Sir?”

And what was that vague threat that McCormick had said during that phone call almost a week ago? Something about having the city’s crews in his pocket? That couldn’t be good, not in the slightest.

“Sir?” The voice finally registers fully in Jeremy’s head, and he jolts back into reality, seeing a very confused cashier looking at him, concern clearing from her face. Somehow she looks familiar, but he just can’t put a finger on why…

“Oh thank god, I thought we we’re going to have to call an ambulance. Are you okay? You’ve just been staring at the same shelf for almost 10 whole minutes, I was starting to get worried,” she says cheerily, blonde ponytail bobbing up and down with every shake of her head.

“I’m alright, thanks, just…just a little out of it, I guess. Oh, while you’re here,” he says, catching her attention again just as she starts to walk away, “is there anything you’d recommend? I’m uh, I’m shopping for a friend, and I’m kinda lost here.”

“Well, what are you looking for? We’ve got a special on Amaranth Ridge wine right now, but if you have something stronger in mind, I’m sure I can help with that.”

“I was thinking more like whiskey? Or scotch, maybe?” Jeremy offers.

“Okay, that’s a bit of a tougher one. Uh…” the clerk thinks for a minute, before making the “wait right here” hand gesture, leaving and coming back with a thin black box. She cradles the thing like a baby, and seems almost hesitant to hand it over.

“Here’s our best. Auchroisk 30 Year. It’s like, almondy scotch? Maybe like, with a bit of fruit, I’m honestly not sure, I’ve never tried it.”

“Really? I thought you guys had to try all the stuff before you sell it?” At that, the clerk giggles, and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, right. Buddy, that bottle is 360 bucks, and none of us have the kind of money to replace it.”

“Wow, that much? How’d you figure I could afford it?”

“Well, that gold gun is kinda a dead giveaway,” she jokes, and when Jeremy looks down, he can see the grip of it poking out of his jacket. Damn, he’s gotten a little sloppy. “’s okay, dude, don’t freak out, I’m not gonna call the cops, but, y’know, I do get a commission on every sale I make, so…” she says, raising an eyebrow with a small, imploring smirk.

“Right. I’ll uh, I’ll take this then,” Jeremy says, taking the box from the clerk’s hands. She walks over to the register, rings up the scotch, bags it, then, as she’s handing back his change, she manages to drop all of it on the floor.

“Oh, shit, my bad, can you help me with this?” she asks, but as Jeremy leans down to help, she grabs him by the lapels with one hand and slightly behind the counter, her expression suddenly becoming serious. Ah, now that face he recognized.

“Kathleen?”

“Shut up and listen to me,” she whispers harshly, “McCormick’s planning something, I’m not sure what, but it’s gonna happen soon. And you need to be ready, because he’s got some serious firepower.” In the blink of an eye, the overly cheery clerk is back, straightening almost robotically, and handing him his change.

“Have a nice day, sir!” she enthuses, as he tries to calmly walk out the door. As soon as he’s back in the car, scotch in the passenger’s seat, he calls Geoff’s cell, and throws the car in gear, speeding back to the penthouse as fast as he can. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and finally goes to voicemail. Jeremy calls again. And again. And again. Why isn’t he picking up?

He calls one final time, catching the voicemail again.

“Hey, Geoff, it’s me, Jeremy. Someone from my old crew just tipped me off about something big coming up. She seemed serious, I think we need to really look into this when you’ve got a chance. Call me when you get this.”

When Jeremy finally gets to the penthouse, he can immediately tell that something is off. There’s new scuff marks on the floor in the garage when he puts his keys into the valet box, and scratches on the elevator panel. He takes the elevator to the top, and the doors open to a dark living room. As he steps out, he can see the full extent of what’s wrong.

The art on the walls is torn, the walls themselves peppered with bullet holes. Something bad happened here, and recently. Maybe Kathleen got to him too late.

“Guys?” Jeremy calls out, nearly sprinting to the hall. He’s met at the doorway by the angriest Jack he’s ever seen. Her hair coils around her like copper snakes, eyes rimmed red and swollen like something out of a horror movie.

“We trusted you!” She shrieks, pulling an extendable baton seemingly from nowhere, and advancing toward him after opening it with one flick of the wrist.

“What? Jack, what’s going on? I don’t, I don’t understand!” Jeremy argues, managing to sidestep one wicked swing. She winds up for another, and catches him in the side of the head. He barely manages to hear her scream, and the sound of heavy boots running across the wooden floor before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c i warned ya'll that shit was about to go down, so here it is. also, i did a shitton of liquor research for this, so hopefully it pays off, idk


	13. Oh Boy, Here We Go

Jeremy comes back to consciousness somewhere cold, extremely cold. He can feel ropes around his wrists, bolting his hands to the floor, keeping him on his knees. There’s some sort of cloth over his eyes, something rough and scratchy. His mouth is gagged with duct tape, which prompt gets torn off the second he lifts his head the tiniest amount.

“Fuck!” the lad cries out, before hearing a familiar pacing. “Ryan?”

“I’m gonna need you to cooperate, kid,” the familiar voice intones, and suddenly Jeremy is very, very scared. Because that voice isn’t Ryan. That voice is the Vagabond, and suddenly there’s the sinking feeling that he’s in the center of the spider’s web, just ready to be torn apart.

“Ryan, what’s happening? Why am I here?” he tries to reason, tries to get any sort of information. The gent just sighs, and Jeremy thinks he can almost hear him laugh.

“I actually trusted you. We all trusted you.”

No. Oh no. This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.

“I don’t understand what’s happening! What is all this, Ryan?” More bootsteps, the clink of metal against metal. Something sharp being pressed to his neck, then removed, and set back down.

“We found your voicemail, Jeremy, we know how you did it. You know? Jack cried herself to sleep last night, after we knocked you out. She said she’d never felt worse. And you’re going to pay for that, yes you are,” the Vagabond continues, as if Jeremy hadn’t said anything. His voice close, but not that close. He must be sitting on the floor in front of the ropes.

“Ryan,” Jeremy says, trying to appeal to reason, “Why would I betray Geoff like this, by hurting someone he cares about? I took a bullet for him! That scar is like, a badge of fucking honor! I would honestly die a million times for you guys, why-“

“You didn’t just betray _him_ , you betrayed us all, Jeremy.” That one singular line, is more heartbreaking, more agonizing than anything else the lad has ever experienced. He can feel the blood curdling in his veins, his heart starting to beat faster and faster as the Vagabond keeps going. “You sold us out, and they managed to grab Geoff.”

The world stops. Nothing matters. Not the ropes cutting his skin, not the pain in his temple, not the blood he can feel running down his arm, or the biting hunger. The cold air doesn’t matter, the cold concrete doesn’t matter, nothing Jeremy’s done for the crew matters anymore. Because they finally got what they wanted.

“…what?” he finally manages to get out after an unbearable silence.

“Your old crew kidnapped Geoff,” the Vagabond laughs, and there’s another sound of metal against metal as he taunts, “and it’s all your fault.”

“No!” the lad nearly screams, “I would never…I would never betray you guys! You guys are my family!” Jeremy can feel something slice across the top of his shoulder, and he just manages to refrain from screaming when he feels the blood running down his arm.

“I thought that once upon a time,” the Vagabond replies, actually sounding saddened at the thought. He clears his throat, making another slice in Jeremy’s arm, just under the first one. “I’m sure Geoff did too. Who knows what they’re doing to him now-“

“Stop.” Jeremy tries to sound forceful, tries to sound anything but utterly broken at the thought that Geoff was somewhere being beaten by people he’d once considered friends. The lad can’t handle the _way_ Ryan says it, the blame that’s clear as day in his voice. Almost as if to say, ‘you did this, you did this to us’.

“-he could be bleeding out in some warehouse-“

“Ryan, stop, please…” Jeremy shuts his eyes tight behind the blindfold, as if it will do any good in blocking out the words that are like knives tearing apart every heartstring.

“His last thought could be that he never thought, you, of all people, would betray him-“

“But I didn’t!” Jeremy bursts out, straining against the ropes. “I had _no_ part in this!”

“Such a shame, I bet he thought you really cared about him,” the Vagabond continues on, making another neat slice. At this point, Jeremy’s arm is starting to shake and twitch, but he doesn’t even notice, not for a second.

“But I did! God, I care about him so much, I would never do this!”

“Turns out, you didn’t care about him at all, and now he’s-“

“STOP! JUST FUCKING STOP!” Jeremy screams at the top of his lungs, railing against his bonds in a fultile attempt to attack his captor. He loses himself for a second, forgets that Ryan is his friend, that he was innocent. All he wanted was to hurt him, to make him take it back, take those fucking words back.

“Don’t you dare say I don’t fucking care!” he continues, falling back onto his knees. “I…I love Geoff. I love him so fucking much, I would never betray him, I wouldn’t…”

And with that, Jeremy finally admits the truth to himself. Finally admits the feelings he’d been pushing down all this time. He loved Geoff, more than anything. He was willing to die for him, not for some accolade, or reputation, or even just simple loyalty. But because he was fucking in love, like a stupid yearning puppy dog.

Ryan snaps his fingers in front of Jeremy’s face. “Hey, stay with me here, kid.”

“I was stupid…so stupid. I waited too long to tell him how I felt and now you’re going to kill me and I’ll never have the chance.” There’s nothing left but dejection. Something broken, and not easily healed.

“If you cooperate and help us get him back, I’ll give you a minute to say you’re sorry before I put a bullet-“

Suddenly, there’s a jarring noise of something slamming open, cutting the Vagabond off midsentence. It sounds almost like…a door?

“Ryan, stop!” Jack’s voice carries across the room, her soft soled shoes making the lightest noise as she rushes toward them.

“It’s not him! It wasn’t him!” Gavin shouts, and Jeremy can hear his shoes start to move across the floor, too. Jack kneels down next to Jeremy on the ground, fumbling the blindfold off his face, and revealing the full scene. Ryan, in full facepaint, and with Jeremy’s blood coating his hands and the scalpel in them. Gavin, laptop resting on a try table of torture instruments as he types away. Jack, eyes red as she looks over his wounds, her face full of grief and her chest heaving. She looks almost ready to cry as she pulls desperately at the knot holding his wrists down.

“What?” Ryan asks, dropping the scalpel as if it was suddenly burning hot.

“The chip! I chipped…when the arm…and it says…it proves…and the records…” Gavin says, words blending, no two parts of his sentence matching together.

“English, Gav.”

The lad takes a deep breath, brings up something on his computer, and continues, “I GPS chipped Jeremy, like the kind dogs have, when his arm got holey, and the tracking says that he wasn’t anywhere _near_ here when they took Geoff. He was at some liquor store.”

“That would explain the scotch…” Ryan mumbles to himself.

“And I checked his phone records, the only time he’s talked to his old crew was once! And he told them that he worked for us!”

“What about the voicemail from the burner phone?” Ryan asks, not so much suspicious as surprised.

“Fuck the voicemail! If you wankers would have brought it to me before doing all this I could have told you it was all fake! It’s just all spliced together! And I when I looked at the real phone, it’s got a weird rattle to it, so I cracked it open, and guess what? A bug! That’s how they got his voice, that’s how they tricked Geoff!” Gavin exclaims, getting into Ryan’s face aggressively enough to make the much taller man back up a little. “And! There’s a _real_ one from his _real_ phone from the _exact same time_. So, tell me again how this was our only option to get the information?”

Jack finally manages to get the knots out of the ropes, freeing Jeremy’s hands, and pulling him into the tightest hug he’d ever experienced. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, feeling the safest he has in a while. Which, after what just happened is really strange.

“We’re so sorry, Jeremy…” she whispers, patting his back like a mother comforting their child.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” Jeremy lies, “I’m…I’m okay. We just need to get Geoff, we just…we need to.”

“Guys,” Gavin says quietly.

“We will, don’t you worry,” Ryan reassures, before pausing for a second and continuing, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“GUYS!” Gavin yells, bringing all attention to his side of the room. “We’ve got a trace.”

“A what?”

“A trace! A trace on Geoff’s chip!”

“Are you serious? What are we waiting for?” Jeremy says, hauling himself to his feet, and almost falling over from the fuzziness in his head. Jack puts his good arm over her shoulder, supporting him enough to walk to Gavin’s computer. His entire body aches all over, as if someone had thrown him out of the back of a truck. What had they done to him while he was out cold? 

“It’s on 636 Palaminska. Some kind of warehouse?” Gavin muses, completely ignoring everything Jeremy just said.

“That’s a Freelancer base, one of my old gang’s,” Jeremy says, pointing to the overhead view of the place.

“It’s crawling with…” Gavin says, tapping away on the keyboard, his eyes growing wide, “with everyone! I’m seeing Freelancers, How-To crews, Rubies, Roosters, oh god! It’s everyone!”

“I can get in,” Jeremy pushes forward, drawing all attention to himself. “If you patch me up I can get in. I know that place like the back of my hand.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Ryan agrees. “We have a king to rescue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rips huge hit off the inspiration bong* okay but what if like, that person, the one you adore with all your tiny heart? what if you just tortured them mercilessly? good idea, self, im gonna do just that, and then release it the same day as another chapter because i have no self control at all


	14. Jack and Jer: Rescue Rangers

The bandages under Jeremy’s jacket chafe at his skin, pulling at the stitches in his skin. 34 of them, all in three neat rows. The soon to be scars a constant reminder to the others that not all of them have scars to show their devotion.

Jeremy knocks on the door to the building, a thick metal sheet that nearly muffles its own sound with its weight. Bulletproof.

A tall blonde in combat gear, the symbol of a Roosters contractor on his vest, steps out, and Jeremy puts a bullet through his temple, letting him slump to the ground. The silenced thump alerts another guard behind the first, a skittery lad that Jeremy recognizes from a job they pulled only weeks ago. Hired help. He puts a bullet through his forehead, stepping past him into the warehouse.

He crouches down, seeing another guard at the end of the corridor, faced toward the open space, and a worker packing something onto a higher shelf. Something with a flammability sticker stuck to the side. Uh-oh.

Just as Jeremy notices that, something rocks the building from the other direction, sending the guard and the worker to the floor, and giving Jeremy the chance to rush them. He puts a round into the back of the stocker’s head, and another under the face shield of the guard, splattering the plastic with gore. He turns the corner sharply, backing up when he sees two more guards in front of a door, both dressed in heavy riot gear. He sees the tail end of two more rushing toward the other side of the building, someone in a suit between them. Someone bald, in a suit. He’d have to deal with that particular issue later. The guards near the door are talking into their mics furiously, arguing with someone, until both quieting down at once. They look at each other, as the building quakes again, and the taller one shrugs, as if to say “what can we do?”

Luckily, Jeremy has an answer to that question. He hides behind shelves as they look nervously around, never moving until the coast is clear. He’s right behind the shorter guard when the other spots him, trying to mouth to the other as another boom rocks the building. By the time Jeremy puts a bullet under the collar of the shorter one, the other is running, fumbling at his belt for a radio. Jeremy knocks him down with a well-placed shot to the back of the knee, and the man falls to the ground with a pained scream. Jeremy walks over and aims a hard kick at his stomach, feeling ribs crack as his boot connects. He leans down, and pulls the guard’s helmet off.

The kid can’t be much older than Jeremy, his slightly scruffy baby face covered in fresh tear tracks, and a patch signifying him as one of the Rubies just over the arms folded over his stomach.

“What do you want? You…you already, you killed…” the kid sputters.

“Where’s Geoff?” Jeremy asks, not wasting time with extra words.

“Ramsey? He’s…he’s in the room, man, right in there. Just…just let me go. Oh god, Kerry, I’m so sorry, I’m-“

The kid is still talking when Jeremy shoots him.

He gets up, rushing to the door. It’s locked, by some sort of keycard. A cursory search of the guards reveals that they don’t have one, and neither does the one in the corridor. Given that there’s no other solution, Jeremy tries to brute force it, slamming his shoulder against the door again, and again, and again. The door loosens, but doesn’t move. Jeremy kicks the center of the handle and only then does the door slam open, lock clinking to the floor.

Geoff is sitting slumped in the corner of the room, still in his pajamas from the previous day. His face is half black and blue, swollen to all hell, his bottom lip split and bleeding. Jeremy can barely restrain the urge to kill everyone in the warehouse until he found who did this, instead choosing to crouch down next to the incapacitated gent, untying his bound wrists.

“Geoff? Geoff, c’mon, you gotta wake up, we gotta go,” Jeremy whispers, finally managing to get the ropes away. The gent stirs slightly, opening his eyes and smiling when he recognizes the voice talking to him.

“J…Jeremy? Is that really you?” he asks, voice hoarse. He coughs into his elbow, pulling it away spotted with blood.

“It is, it’s me, Geoff. I’m here, I’m here for you,” Jeremy says, trying to pull the gent to his feet, lowering him back down when he winces. “I’m gonna need you to trust me, okay? Okay, Geoff? Do you…” the lad hesitates for just a second, “do you trust me?”

“There’s…there’s never been a single moment I haven’t trusted you. I knew this…” Geoff says, haltingly, “ _all_ of _this_ …wasn’t your fault. They…” his head start to slide back to the wall, eyes closing, before he shakes his head, trying to clear it.

“Hey, Geoff! Stay with me, stay here with me,” Jeremy says, putting a hand under the side of the gent’s jaw. Geoff puts a hand over Jeremy’s, almost leaning into the touch.

“They tried to convince me it was you, but I knew…I knew they were lying. I knew you wouldn’t…” Geoff coughs again, clenching his teeth to avoid opening his mouth.

“Geoff…Geoff it’s okay, you don’t have to-“

“No, you let me finish,” Geoff admonishes, and Jeremy immediately stops to listen, “I trust you, Jeremy. I…I _love_ you. Always, unconditionally. Because…because I know that’s how you feel, too. And…and I know that, I know it. I just…I just know.”

“I…I do. God, of fucking course I do. I love you so much, and…and I’m sorry it took me this long to spit it out,” Jeremy admits, and even now, in the midst of all this, his heart warms when he thinks the words “I love you”. Remembers that not 30 seconds before, Geoff had said the same words. His throat burns with the metaphorical whiskey of equally returned love, and it burns oh so well.

“It’s okay, I was dumb too,” Geoff says, with a dry chuckle. “But, uh…hey, my life for yours, kid. Now, can we please go home?” Those words finally bring Jeremy out of his semi-trance, and he hears the booms and shots from the other side of the warehouse. Hears a woman scream. Was that Jack?

“Home? Yeah, yeah, we can go home,” the lad says, putting an arm under Geoff’s legs, and another under his back, picking him up and wincing at the pain of several of his stitches popping open with the stress, pulling his skin with them.

“We can go home, and…” he says to Geoff, who clings to him tightly, arms around his neck, as Jeremy traverses the corpses outside the door, then walks as fast as he can toward the entry point. “…and I’ll get you a glass of scotch-I bought you this really expensive scotch-and…and everything’ll be okay again.”

As Jeremy gets to the door, he hears a shot, and peeks around the corner to see Jack on top of a flipped SUV, blood running down her face, shooting anyone daring to rush her position near the escape vehicle. Jeremy hurries toward her, putting Geoff into the passenger’s seat, before running to the driver’s side of the already running car.

“Jack! We have to go!” he shouts up to her.

“Ryan’s coming in with the chopper, I’ll be fine! Just go!” she says, waving them off. Jeremy doesn’t need to be told twice, and he throws the car into gear, tires burning out fruitlessly for a few precious seconds, before finally catching and speeding the car away.

“You have to stay with me, Geoff,” Jeremy says, shaking the gent with one hand when he seems to doze off. “You have to stay awake.”

“It’s hard…”

“I know, but j-“

“Harder than my dick on a Saturday afternoon…” Geoff continues, punctuating it with a croaky giggle, and leaving Jeremy absolutely stuck for words.

“…You…you are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” he finally manages to respond, an involuntary smile on his face.

“That’s not true, you’ve met…you’ve met Gavin tons…tons of…” Geoff says, before his head lolls to one side, fully unconscious this time.

“Geoff? Geoff? Don’t leave me like this, please don’t! Geoff!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent more time on that chip and dale: rescue rangers pun than i spent on my last english final, so like, im confident that its good. also, yes i did kill miles and kerry in this chapter, purely because im an emotional sadomasochist that loves to Suffer


	15. Mr. Ramsey's Coming Home (What'd I Miss?)

Jeremy’s woken, for once not by the loud shouting of people fighting over the last bowl of cereal, but by a light touch on his shoulder, shaking him awake. For a moment, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered where he was, before recognizing the cold leather of the armchair in Geoff’s room, right where he’d pulled it up the night before.

“You alright?” Geoff asks, from in front of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, and smiling.

“You’re…you’re awake?”

“’Course I am,” the gent says with a chuckle, “I’m always up, baby.” Geoff raises an eyebrow and smirks, and Jeremy can’t help but laugh. For the first time since he’d been home, he’d genuinely laughed.

“Why is it always dick jokes with you? The first thing out of your mouth when you wake up is a dick joke. The last thing you said to me _2 days ago_ , right before you passed out, was a dick joke. Are you compensating for something?”

“I got nothin’ I need to compensate for, and you know it. I just appreciate a good dong joke once in a while is all,” Geoff says defensively. Jeremy just rolls his eyes and laughs, and the gent sighs.

“You know,” he continues,” I missed this.”

“You were asleep, you weren’t missing anything.”

“No, I mean, just…just the quiet. Just being here with you,” Geoff smiles, pushing up off the side of the bed. He tries to take a step forward, and falls, just a Jeremy jolts out of his seat, managing to catch him.

“Huh, looks like my legs aren’t exactly a hundred percent fixed yet.”

“Yeah, looks like. You should sit back down, and save your strength,” Jeremy tries to help Geoff back to the bedside, but the gent keeps his ground, arms wrapped around the lad’s chest, not willing to let go.

“No, I can stand, I can at least do that. I…this is nice, let’s just stay like this,” Geoff bargains, but Jeremy just lifts the gent off the ground, trying to avoid his injuries while he puts him back down on the bed.

“Yeah, alright, flaunt your guns more, why don’t you?” the gent complains, before actually looking at Jeremy, fully. His eyes are drawn to the bandages around the lad’s shoulder, and for once, Jeremy wishes he didn’t wear a tanktop today.

“What’s that? Please tell me you didn’t get hurt rescuing my dumb ass.”

And for a second, Jeremy knows what he should say, knows he should tell the truth. But, would it be worth it? The others had just been scared, they hadn’t…they hadn’t meant to be malicious. They were doing exactly what he would have done if the roles were reversed. And so, he does the one thing he promised himself he would never do. He lies to Geoff.

“Cut myself on a shelf. Those motherfuckers had the most horribly organized place I’ve ever seen.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Geoff says, still holding onto the front of Jeremy’s shirt with one hand, seemingly hesitant to let him go.

“No, it’s okay, really. You’re…you’re here, and you’re not dead, so…so it’s okay,” Jeremy says, smiling softly, trying to cover up the tumult in his head. Geoff sees it, sees the uncertainty in his face, and pulls him even closer. He presses his lips to the lad’s, keeping him from saying anything else. Jeremy turned his head into the kiss, feeling Geoff’s tongue glide over his bottom lip, before the gent takes the initiative to pull him even closer, forcing Jeremy to put his leg onto the bed and over Geoff’s legs, the other on the other side. Geoff’s beard scratches his face, just a little, but he barely notices, his mind going nearly blank in the moment.

When Geoff finally pulls away, leaving Jeremy panting and leaning over him, he giggles, one of his famous cancer-curing laughs, and untangles his hand from the front of Jeremy’s shirt. He snakes both hands under the hem of Jeremy’s shirt, pulling it up and carefully over the lad’s injured shoulder, setting the lad back on his heels.

And then, Geoff gasps, not at Jeremy’s strong, but not especially defined physique, but at the black and blue bruises covering his torso. They’re peppered across his stomach, his ribs, even some over his back.

“Jeremy, a shelf didn’t do that to you,” Geoff says, tracing the shape of an especially bad mark. “These…these look like boot marks, did…did someone kick you? Who did this?”

“I…does it matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters. Everything about you, about _this_ matters.”

“I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it,” Jeremy manages to say, trying to put some sense of finality in his voice. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to admit to Geoff that one of his closest friends made a horrible mistake in a fit of rage and…

“Okay, that’s okay,” Geoff says, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But…it’s okay to, to be fucked up. It won’t make you any less of a hero.”

“It’s not that, it’s-“

“Look, I’ll…I’ll show you mine, alright? It’ll be like kindergarten all over again, but instead of dicks, we’re comparing injuries,” Geoff trails off, struggling to get his own shirt over his head. Jeremy leans to help him, tossing it off to the side.

The gent’s chest is covered in welts, cigarette burns in the gaps between tattoos, where they’d be visible to anyone looking. Bandages across his stomach, the disgusting black and green of a bruise the size of a basketball just peaking up above them. Geoff’s collarbones were bruised, too, in shades of black and purple.

“Oh, Geoff…” Jeremy breathes out, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. The gent leans back, the pillows behind him holding up his slight frame as he struggles with his plaid pajama bottoms.

“Fucking…can you help me out here?” he asks, after realizing that Jeremy is practically on top of his knees. The lad mutters a quick apology, moving to the side, and helping him get rid of them.

His legs are even worse, covered in tons of angry purple and red bruises similar to the ones Jeremy had. They looked almost diseased, or sickly.

“Hey, I can only get better looking from here, right?” Geoff tries to joke, the attempt dying as soon as he sees the concerned look on Jeremy’s face.

“I…God, I’m so sorry. They only had you for two days, and they did all this?”

“It doesn’t…it wasn’t your fault. They wanted information, and I wouldn’t give it to them. Numbers, safe houses, that kind of thing. It…it’s not important. What’s important is that I’m back, and that…and that everything is okay.”

“Right. Everything’s gonna be fine, Geoff, because…because I love you,” Jeremy says, the words feeling foreign in his mouth, “And I’m gonna make sure this _never_ happens again.”

“I love you too, you stupid idiot. Secret bruises and all,” Geoff laughs, pulling Jeremy back on top of him by hooking his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. “God, you look great.”

“I mean, I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Shut the fuck up, you look fine. I mean, you’re like 3 feet tall, but you look alright,” Geoff jokes, fumbling at Jeremy’s belt buckle.

“Gee, thanks for the confidence boost. And just…just wait a second,” he replies, slapping the gent’s hands lightly away. “You have a concussion, we can’t do this now.”

“It’s my head that’s broken, not my dick.”

“Even still, you need to rest up, not get right back into…things.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Jeremy doesn’t have an answer to that, mostly because he’s not a medic, but Geoff takes it as evidence that there isn’t anything, trying again for his belt buckle. He manages to get it unhooked, before Jeremy leans back onto his heels again.

“Wait, wait, wait, I’m not…we can’t. If you like, have a stroke and die-“

“Oh my god, I’m not going to die! I’ll be fine!” Geoff sighs, then gropes at the side table, picking up his cellphone. He types for a few seconds while Jeremy looks on in confusion.

“It’s not _recommended_ , but it’s not discouraged either,” he says, putting the phone back.

“I mean…”

“Please, Jeremy, I haven’t had a chance to jack off in like, a full week, I am _dying_ here,” he pleads, which sends the lad into a paroxysm of laughter.

“You’re so overdramatic, oh my god. You’re not going to die from not getting off.”

“It feels like dying…”

“Okay, alright, alright. I’ll compromise with you. Since I don’t want you to die, we can do something just as good that won’t make your brain pop like a balloon,” Jeremy says, putting a hand on Geoff’s hip, pulling the scrawny gent up onto his lap gently.

“Eugh, gross. That sentence couldn’t have been less boner-inducing if it tried,” Geoff winces, hooking his legs behind Jeremy’s back. “And it tried.”

“Maybe this’ll be better,” the lad croons, running a hand up the leg of Geoff’s loose boxers, caressing his skin carefully, avoiding pressing too hard. He smiles when he hears the gent’s breath hitch in his throat.

“That…that certainly is better,” the gent says, pressing his heels harder into the small of Jeremy’s back as the fabric of his underwear starts to tent.

“What do you want, Mr. Ramsey? Name almost anything and it’s yours,” Jeremy whispers into Geoff’s ear.

“I…god, this is going to sound fucked up, but I’d love to see you on your knees with my dick in that pretty mouth of yours,” he replies, voice cracking slightly as Jeremy moves apart the fly of Geoff’s underwear, wrapping a hand around the stiffened flesh underneath and pumping just a _teasingly_ little bit, making the older man shudder. Jeremy readjusts himself, moving off of Geoff’s legs and onto the floor, giving him a chance to rearrange, so that his legs are hanging off the side of the bed.

The lad puts his lips around the tip, putting a hand over the edge of the bed, and feeling Geoff’s fingers lace into his when he starts swirling around with his tongue, the gent groaning. Jeremy takes the chance to taunt him a little, pulling away fully, and giving the gent a sly smile.

“You’re a motherfucker, oh my god,” Geoff says, jaw giving an involuntary twitch.

“I’m not fucking your mother, I’m fucking you,” Jeremy responds, getting back to it before Geoff can reply. The faster he goes, the more he swirls his tongue, the more he can feel Geoff’s hand tighten around his. His breathing gets heavier and heavier, until eventually he throws his head back, cock twitching as he cums almost directly into the back of Jeremy’s throat. It’s nothing worse than the lad’s handled before, and he swallows with ease, spitting out Geoff’s now spent dick in the process.

“God, that was quicker than I thought,” he taunts, and the panting gent looks legitimately hurt.

“It’s been a full week! You can’t fault me for this.”

“Not faulting you, just-“Jeremy starts, before hearing the door to the room open, and freezing like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh god! Oh god, I didn’t know!” Jack yells, as the door closes again. Geoff just sighs, and shakes his head.

“Well, that’s gonna come back to haunt us,” he says, after a tense few seconds.

“Like a fucking dick poltergeist?” Jeremy offers.

“Like a fucking dick poltergeist,” Geoff agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, I'm sorry that this turned into a den of sin so quickly. honestly im sorry it turned into a den of sin at all tbh. also, catch that sweet hamilton reference title that doubles as a pun, im super proud of that tbh


	16. Codeine for Numb Hearts

“No, you absolutely cannot drive! You’re gonna end up killing yourself!” Jeremy yells, as Geoff pulls on his thin jacket, obviously not listening. “You can’t drive with a concussion, it’s just not safe.”

“Dude, we’re fucking bank robbers, nothing we do is safe,” Geoff replies, heading down the hall to the front door, Jeremy follows after him, trying to come up with a valid excuse, when Ryan steps out of his room, and directly into the path.

“Ryan, I-“

“No, listen, I just…I need to apologize. For everything that happened. It all just…” looking over Ryan’s shoulder as he talks, Jeremy can see Geoff leaving the penthouse, flipping him the bird just before the doors close. Clever little fuck.

“I was angry, and I thought… everything was fucked, and...and Jack was, well, you saw her, and I just wanted vengeance, and I didn’t stop to think about any alternatives,” Ryan continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jeremy was ever so slightly trying to move toward the door. Any other time they could have a long talk about feelings, but now was not the time. Though, the next thing Ryan says actually stops him for a second, giving him pause for thought.

“Cruelty is my job, but I should never have taken work home to my family, y’know?”

“What…what do you mean by that?”

“Well, as much as I told you otherwise, you really are like family to us. Jack loves you like she’d love her own son, which is weird, because then I feel like a dad, and the idea of me being a dad is just,” he shudders for dramatic effect, “not great. And then there’s the issue of the fact that if I’m your dad then I need to have a talk with Geoff about-“

“Alright, I see where this is going, and I’m not having it,” the lad says, raising a hand to signal that the conversation was over.

“Listen, son, I just want to make sure that you and your boyfriend are being safe, is that too much to ask?”

“First of all, you are literally only like 10 years older than me. Second of all, I’m an adult, I think I can make my own decisions. Third of all, I’m _really_ **not** having this conversation with you right now,” Jeremy insists, actually pushing past Ryan this time, and heading straight to the elevator. He manages to get the doors closed before Ryan can say anything else that might be extremely embarrassing, and the ride down to the parking garage is short.

He sees Geoff, still rummaging through the valet box and cursing furiously. Jeremy chuckles quietly to himself, walking over to lean on the counter of the empty valet stand. 

“Looks like somebody moved your keys, huh?” he says, causing Geoff to jump, accidentally slamming the back of his head into the underside of the counter. The smile drops from Jeremy’s face as he goes around the side of the small kiosk to help Geoff up so that he doesn’t hit his head again.

“You’re an asshole,” Geoff mutters, dusting himself off.

“I’m sorry, okay? Both for making you hit your head again and for hiding your keys.”

“You’re still an asshole,” Geoff sighs, and Jeremy pulls him into a hug. The gent rests his chin on the shorter merc’s head, and puts his arms around his shoulders. “A tiny, inconsiderate asshole.”

“That’s rude.”

“Oh, c’mon, you know you’re short. Don’t act so wounded. If anyone should be acting wounded it’s me. You’re treating me like a goddamn child.”

“Says the guy who literally shoved antibiotics into my mouth.”

“Fair point.”

“And driving isn’t safe with your concussion. What if you pass out in the driver’s seat and crash? What then?”

“You’ll follow me into hell and kill me a second time?”

“Hell yeah I will.” Jeremy takes a step back, disentangling himself to look Geoff in the eye. “Just come back upstairs, okay? I know you want to like, relax or whatever, but just…just humor me this once, okay?”

Geoff looks as if he’s thinking about it for a second, before sighing for what seemed like the 5th time today.

“Yeah, alright. Asshole.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t really mean it,” the lad says, stepping aside to follow Geoff into the elevator before the doors close behind him.

“I say a lot of things I don’t mean.”

“Did you mean it when you said ‘I love you’?”

“The fuck kinda question is that?” the gent asks, taken aback, as the pair leave the cold, recirculated air of the elevator. He pauses in the middle of the living room, which was honestly the last place Jeremy wanted to be having this conversation.

“I don’t…can we maybe not do this here?”

“No, I wanna talk about this, cause what the fuck was that curveball from-“ Geoff says, his voice raising momentarily, before Jeremy simply picks him up, carefully picking the still-bruised gent off the floor and putting him over his shoulder, carrying him down the hall and into the quiet of Geoff’s bedroom, before putting him back down.

“Alright, just because you _can_ do that all the time doesn’t mean you _should._ ”

“I just didn’t want to talk about it in the open, okay?”

“And your first instinct is to just pick me up and move me?”

“I mean, yeah, kinda? You weigh like 80 pounds, dude.”

“I weigh like 160! That’s almost twice as much! But that’s…that’s not the point. That’s not what we have to talk about. What we have to talk about is why the fuck you don’t believe me when I say that I love you,” Geoff says, voice softening the longer he talks. He falls back onto the side of the bed, swinging his feet toward the footboard. He motions for Jeremy to lay down next to him, and the lad does, letting Geoff curl against him, head against his chest.

“Is it…is it the way I said it? Because I meant it.”

“No, it was just…it was just a joke.”

“No it wasn’t. Shit like that isn’t just something you say as a joke. If I said something that hurt you…”

“I guess…I guess it was just the way it all happened?” Jeremy offers, “It just happened during a crazy time, and…and I guess I was just worried that you’d come to your senses after the fact, and realize you’ve made a horrible mistake. Nobody’s ever told me they loved me and didn’t expect something from me in return, so I figured…I figured as much as I loved you, you’d probably be the same way.”

“Fuck that. And fuck those people. I don’t expect anything more from you than this,” Geoff says, wrapping his arms around the lad. “I love you. And I mean that. I mean it today, I’ll mean it tomorrow, I’ll mean it until I’m dead in the ground.”

There’s a pause, filled with comfortable silence, before Geoff continues, “I’ve never regretted this. Never regretted _us_.”

“I regretted us a little bit a few minutes ago when Ryan tried to give me the sex talk.” At that, Geoff nearly bursts into a fit of giggles, as Jeremy rolls his eyes.

“That’s not regretting us, that’s just regretting putting my dick in your mouth.”

“Moreso just forgetting to lock the door and letting Jack walk in.”

“So just to be clear, you _don’t_ regret the dick thing?”

“Why does everything come back to dicks with you? Why are you like this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my laptop died for a bit, but its back and unbricked now, so more updates in the future from now on out :3c


	17. The End of Most Things

The call came through at noon the next Friday, after 5 days of waiting. The newly reformed and restructured Freelancers had finally caught up with their former figurehead. He’d been hiding out in some abandoned safehouse, trapped like a rat between the consequences of his own decisions, the ire of his own crew, and the righteous fury of the leaderless and broken Rubies. Not to mention the 2 million dollar bounty on his head, taken out by one Mr. Ramsey.

Kathleen had called Geoff personally to tell him. “This is your chance for retribution. If you want it, come take it,” she had said. And Geoff certainly intended to. He’d waved away any offers to drive him to the meeting place, shut down any offers of defense from his crew. They were just trying to help, but honestly, if the Freelancers really wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

When he finally made it down to the parking garage, there was already a car idling in front of the desk. Jeremy was sitting in the driver’s seat, disinterestedly scrolling through his phone as if waiting for something.

“Go back upstairs,” Geoff says, walking up to the open window and scowling. Jeremy pretends not to hear him. “Seriously, go back upstairs, this is something I have to do alone.”

“No it isn’t,” Jeremy replies, giving the gent a sarcastic look over the frames of his sunglasses and putting his phone back in his pocket. “You think you have to go alone to settle some score with Shannon, but it’s not only your score to settle. They set me up too, Geoff,” the lad reminds him.

“Oh my god, _fine_ , whatever,” Geoff finally capitulates, rounding the front fender and hopping into the passenger’s seat, arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child.

“It’s just…insurance, I guess. Makes it impossible to justify the cost of a fight,” Jeremy says, almost hesitant to admit the real purpose of his insistence to go with Geoff. He’d almost lost him once to these people, he wasn’t going to take that chance again.

The drive to the meeting point was short, taking a side road that lead into the middle of the vast desert. Nothing else was in sight in the slowly encroaching dusk but three shadowy figures and a car, one that Jeremy noted had the _ugliest_ turquoise paint job that he’d ever seen in his entire life. Like, Jesus Christ, the thing already looked like a street-legal tank, was the fucking horrible paint really necessary?

As Jeremy parked the car, he could see that one of the figures had his hands tied behind his back, and a bag over his head. He and Geoff got out of the car, trying not to seem nervous as they approached. As they did, Geoff shot him a look that churned his stomach. It very clearly said “if this turns sour I want you to leave me.” Well, that simply wasn’t happening. Ever.

“You’re looking well, Ramsey,” Kathleen croons as she shakes hands with the gent, a somewhat crooked grin on her face.

“Yeah, well, no thanks to this asshole here,” he says, aiming a well-placed kick in their captive’s direction, and catching him right in the ribs. He doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t cry out, just crumples to the ground. “So you’re the boss now?”

“You could say that. I’m trying to rebuild the shit show that Shannon made of my fucking gang, sure, but I wouldn’t say that makes me a boss.”

“Close enough. I mean, you got your little ascended lieutenant there,” Geoff motions to the scrawny-looking guy in a blue letterman jacket sitting on the hood of the car behind her, seemingly completely oblivious to what was going on. He offers a wave and a polite smile, then goes back to looking at his phone. “Didn’t know the Freelancers were desperate enough for recruits that they’d call up a Blood Gulcher.”

“Jason’s good enough to work with us, and you know that. But that’s beside the point, Ramsey. We caught the guy, fair and square, I mean, you can see that,” Kathleen gestures vaguely at the sandy desert ground, and the man currently laying on it.

“Fuck off,” comes the unmistakable voice of Shannon, muffled by the thick bag over his head.

“That sound like him?” Geoff asks Jeremy, finally seeming to register the lad’s presence beside him.

“Sounds like him for sure.”

“Alright then. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck,” Geoff shrugs. Kathleen simply nods, seemingly pleased at her own peace offering.

“This son of a bitch was pleading and screaming a few minutes before you showed up, I dunno why he’s suddenly decided to clam up,” she says with a shrug. After a tense moment, she reaches forward and puts a hand on Geoff’s shoulder and continues, “Well, this is your mess now. If you’ll excuse me, I have a mess to clean up and a reputation to regain.”

She motions to her entourage, and the two of them get back into the car, and drive off. Geoff simply watches until they’re gone, and then suddenly decompresses, becoming less like the proud, unbroken leader of one of the city’s biggest gangs, and more like the cocky idiot that Jeremy had grown to be completely enamored with.

“Well that was a huge waste of time. Coulda just said ‘hey, we caught the fucker as an apology for fucking up, please don’t rain hell on us,’ but no, we have to be all melodramatic about it,” Geoff complains to Jeremy, rolling his eyes.

“It’s just Kathleen’s style, I think. She always did like the drama,” Jeremy offers with a shrug.

“Oh my god, if I have to hear one more stupid quip I think I might die of boredom before you have a chance to kill me,” Shannon says, the sarcasm practically dripping from his voice with all the venom he could muster.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, the longer we talk the longer you get to stay alive, buddy,” Geoff says, kicking him again. He turns back to Jeremy and says, “So, do you want to do it, or should I?”

“I mean, it’s your revenge to take. I was just the collateral damage, you were the one he was really trying to hurt.”

“Yeah, but-“

“No, no. You do it,” Jeremy says, more forcefully this time. Geoff nods, reaching into his jacket for his gun. And then reaching some more. And then checking the other side.

“You forgot to bring a gun, didn’t you?”

“I did,” the gent replies, almost sheepishly.

Jeremy sighs, and hands him the gilded gun from his own holster.

“Thanks, babe. Now,” Geoff says, turning back to Shannon and aiming the pistol at his head. “Any last words?”

“My only regret is that I have but one life to give for my country- er, my gang, rather.”

“Wow, what a fucking nerdy way to go out,” Geoff says. He pulls the trigger, and there’s one short pop, a fireburst in the growing dark of the Los Santos night. The man that had caused them so much trouble was dead, really and truly dead this time. The orange soil begins to soak in a wide circle around Shannon’s head, like some sort of bloody halo.

“Glad that’s over with,” Jeremy says, taking the still smoking pistol back from Geoff, drawing the older merc’s attention to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just...just a weird feeling, I guess. Kinda like a mix of relief and like, disgust?”

“I mean, you did just kill someone, that’s probably where the disgust is coming from,” Jeremy offers, which makes Geoff break out into a quiet giggle.

“Yeah? No shit, Sherlock, I never woulda guessed that in a million years.” He sighs, looking up at the first few stars beginning to show in the sky. “We should probably get back home before Jack calls in a search party or something else stupid like that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jeremy says, taking one last look at the cooling body of his former boss before taking Geoff’s hand and walking back to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus the behemoth is put to rest. though, probs not the last geoff/jeremy thing i'll ever write tbh. hypothetically, how do ya'll feel about 1920s tycoon AUs?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is mirrored from my writing tumblr, because honestly, I do not trust that site not to just spontaneously combust at any second tbh


End file.
